Just a B and E
by chrissie0707
Summary: Grissom gives Nick a B&E, his first solo case since his abduction, and creates a chain reaction that reverberates through the team with a force no one anticipated. S6 GD and DLG spoilers. Complete.
1. Just a B and E

Reposted with edits 9/04/12. Enjoy!

* * *

_Chapter One: Just a B&E_

Things seemed quieter than usual. Not eerily quiet, just too calm, like just before a storm breaks, or the noticeable silence when home alone. Every other night over the past few months had been leading to this single night, and even the weather seemed to be in on it. There was no wind, not even a light breeze. The small, tidy neighborhood on the outskirts of Las Vegas was dead silent as CSI Nick Stokes trotted down his front walk to the truck in the driveway.

He jiggled his key ring, anxiously using the metallic rattle to interrupt the quiet. He pushed the oddly unnerving silence out of his mind and hopped into his truck. It was simply a calm, quiet night, and there was nothing wrong with that. In fact, he could really use a calm, quiet night. He started his vehicle and headed towards the crime lab, feeling the need to turn up the radio just a little louder than usual.

The drive into work typically took anywhere from fifteen to twenty-five minutes depending on traffic and stoplights, but tonight the plain stone façade of the Las Vegas Crime Lab seemed to appear in the windshield in the blink of an eye. Highway hypnosis, or maybe something more. Nick brought a hand up and rubbed his eyes. His mind tended to wander, especially while driving, and lately it wandered a lot. He would be travelling a beaten path known so well he could arrive there practically on autopilot, his body and vehicle working in tandem to deposit him at his destination safely with very little effort on the part of his mind.

Nick wasn't exactly sure where it was his mind wandered off to, but if he had three guesses he would only need one. It was something he tried very hard not to consciously think about, despite the ramblings of any therapist. His subconscious, that was a different story, and he was really going to have to do a better job of reining it in. He didn't feel like snapping out of it wrapped around a telephone pole.

Nick pulled into the parking space he'd unofficially called dibs on long ago, and started for the glass double doors. It was quiet even here, and the same eerie silence hung in the air when he entered the building and made his way down the tiled halls. He cocked his head, straining to hear the curiously absent racket of ringing phones and frantic footsteps of CSIs and various law enforcement professionals. The halls weren't empty, not by any means, but those passing seemed to be doing so in slow motion, no one speaking. Nick vaguely wondered if someone had died; not a completely out of the question scenario in his line of work. For some reason, he found himself breathing a sigh of relief when he heard familiar laughter and shouts coming from the open door of the break room. _Thank God._

"Oh! Wow, look at that! Is that where you're supposed to hit the ball? Into all that water?"

"The joystick…stuck. I tried to hit low on the ball."

"Well, you hit it right past the shot limit. Shoot, what's that put you? Twenty-three over par for the course?"

"Just hit the damn ball."

Nick leaned casually against the doorway and laughed. He really did have to side with Greg on this one. Golf, even video game golf, was just not Warrick's game. "You guys get tired of football?" he asked.

Both Greg Sanders and Warrick Brown looked up, Warrick with a bit more hostility. "Didn't think the little punk would be beating me so bad," he admitted, cracking a smile.

"That's right," Greg said with a confident jerk of his head. "Don't mess with the G-Man."

Nick laughed again as he pulled a chair from the table closer to the couch and TV. "Please tell me you didn't actually just call yourself that."

Greg tilted his head and grinned. "Yeah, that was pretty lame." He whipped back to face Warrick. "Not as lame as twenty-three over par, though," he gloated.

Warrick wordlessly tossed his controller to the ground, but Nick could practically hear his thoughts: _screw this game._ Showing the obligatory support for his best friend, Nick quieted his chuckling. "And how did you finish, _G-Man_?"

Greg grinned widely and turned back to the television screen. He pulled the joystick back and pushed it forward quickly, tapping furiously at one of the tiny buttons on the controller. Nick heard the _thwack_ as the club connected with the ball. The animated crowd cheered.

"With a birdie, and seven under par for the course."

"Nice," Nick said, flinching under the look Warrick threw his way.

The lanky CSI shook his head. "I gotta hand it to ya, Greggo, you know your way around a video game golf course."

"And that surprises you somehow?" came the dry question from outside the room. The three CSIs looked up as Gil Grissom entered the room.

"It doesn't you?" Warrick asked, resting a hand on his leg.

Grissom paused, holding a small stack of assignment slips. "I've learned that Greg is capable of anything. I don't know if there's anything new I could learn about him that would surprise me."

Greg looked taken aback by the kind-of-compliment, and he silently accepted the slip of paper Grissom handed him.

"DB. You're meeting Catherine at the Sphere."

"Yes, sir," Greg said. He stood and tossed his controller to the floor next to Warrick's discarded one. "Good game," he said with a smile.

"Get on outta here," Warrick ordered, but smiled in spite of himself. "What do you have for me?" he asked Grissom.

"Another DB, out in Meadow Hills."

Warrick whistled. "Rich dead body."

Grissom nodded. "Expect some press. And take Sara with you, if she ever shows up."

"Here," Sara Sidle said somewhat breathlessly, materializing in the doorway. She paused to catch her breath, almost like she'd run all the way from her car. Which, being Sara, she very may well have.

Warrick slapped his thighs and stood. "Let's go, girl." He waved an arm for Sara to follow him as he accepted the second assignment slip from Grissom.

Sara smiled apologetically at the supervisor as they moved through the doorway.

"Where were you?" Warrick asked her in a somewhat accusatory tone.

"None of your business," she answered coyly, but knowing Sara, Nick figured she'd probably just overslept. Their light banter faded away as the two moved further down the hall.

It suddenly dawned on Nick that he was the only investigator left in the room, and that could end two ways. Either he was working a case with Grissom or working solo, something he hadn't done since the abduction. Truth be told, Nick would more surprised by the former. It seemed to him, and probably to everyone else, the supervisor was avoiding all possible scenarios where the two might be left alone. Even the numerous distractions that accompanied the processing of a crime scene didn't seem enough for Grissom to face whatever it was he was feeling and just spend some time with Nick.

But if what was about to go down was behind door number two…well, Nick wasn't quite sure how excited he would be about that, either. Not because he thought he couldn't handle it; there was no doubt in his mind that he could. It was whether or not the _others_ thought he could handle it. He had this horrible mental image of them sitting around the table in the conference room, picking apart his case, showing him everything he'd done wrong, everything he'd forgotten to do without someone holding his hand. Nick was feeling a serious need to prove himself, to show that he really and truly didn't need them hovering over his shoulder all the time. He didn't need to be babysat, although past events might prove otherwise. He was a grown man and should be allowed to go out alone at night.

Nick found himself practicing the speech as Grissom was only moments away from telling him they would be working together that night. He frowned, trying to find a way to correctly put into words what he was thinking without pissing off the man, only to be taken by surprise by what his supervisor actually said.

"Nick, I want you to take this one."

Nick's head snapped up and he opened his mouth, but nothing came out. He hadn't bothered to prepare something to say in the event Grissom actually let him out of the lab alone. He stared at the paper in Grissom's outstretched hand and blinked several times. He felt like a complete fool, rendered speechless by the thought of a single solo case. God, it was like he was a damn rookie, again.

"Okay," he managed. _How very intelligent of you_, he chastised himself. He even sounded like a rookie.

Grissom gave him a small smile as Nick took the paper. "It's just a B and E. I'm sorry."

The apology seemed out of place to Nick, who was inwardly singing praises to the man, and he raised his eyebrows. "Nah, it's fine." He stared at the paper.

Grissom sighed, and Nick got the feeling it was solely to get his attention. He suddenly wondered just how long he'd been staring.

"I've got to get started on some paperwork for Ecklie," Grissom said. A long, awkward pause. "This is what I get for leaving everything to the end of the month."

"Sure." Nick nodded. Grissom started to back out of the room, but Nick stopped him. "Gris. Thanks."

It sounded strange, and just as out of place as an apology for the simple act of handing out assignments, but at the same time Nick felt a need to say _something._ Grissom gave him another small, however awkward, smile and, seemingly reluctantly, left the room.

Nick stood in the middle of the break room and found himself drawn to stare at the paper again, if for no other reason than to stall his departure from the building. He didn't really know why; he'd done this dozens of times. This was no different.

But it really, really was.

Nick was pushing open the glass doors to leave the lab at the same time Captain Jim Brass was coming up the walk. "Hey, Nicky," the detective greeted him briskly, though not unkindly.

"Jim," Nick responded with a nod. _How many grown men still go by their childhood nicknames?_ Nick thought, and not for the first time. He couldn't ever recall, or even imagine, Warrick or Grissom calling out to Brass, "Hey, Jimmy."

Brass, being a detective, took in Nick's unaccompanied exit from the building, vest on and field kit in hand, and his eyes lit up. "You solo tonight?"

"Yeah," Nick said, trying not to sound too much like a sixteen-year-old girl just told by her parents she could stay home alone for the weekend while they were out of town. He again felt like a shiny new rookie, looking for the chance to brag about pulling a solo case.

Brass took it upon himself to take the assignment slip from Nick's lax fingers, slackening as his mind wandered off once again. "What did you get?" he inquired.

As the detective read the paper, Nick took note of his reaction. Brass gave a small shrug, probably to himself, and Nick saw a look of understanding come over his face: this was a pity solo assignment.

He looked up and smiled at Nick. "Just a B and E," he said sympathetically, but Nick had the feeling it wasn't sincere. Brass didn't seem to want him out on his own any more than the others.

Nick shrugged, unaware of what to say, of what he was expected to say. If Brass didn't understand how much this meant to him, if he thought Grissom was handing him a softball case, he wasn't going to tell him differently. He didn't want to make a big deal out of it.

"I'd better get going," Nick said, gesturing to his truck with his kit.

"Sure," Brass said, giving him another smile, which didn't have the desired effect. Unless the desired effect was to make Nick feel like a child who'd just gotten an A on his spelling test. And not the hard words, either.

Nick found this particular smile difficult to return but did the best he could. The muscles in his cheeks and jaw strained form what felt like a grin stretching from ear to ear, obviously forced, and Brass frowned as he walked away.

_And now he thinks you're crazy_, Nick thought. _Well played._ He shook his head and continued out of the door to his truck.

Apparently that bit of noise Nick had found inside of the building was misleading; the quiet hadn't really gone away. Nick studied the address on his assignment slip as he hopped up into the driver's seat. The house was in a nearby neighborhood, only a fifteen-minute drive from the lab.

_Short leash_, Nick though, immediately ashamed of himself. He should just take what he was given and be happy with it. He wasn't going to allow Grissom's hesitancy or Brass's sympathy get to him. This was his chance to prove he was…well, himself, again.

The autopilot kicked in again during the drive to the house; at least it was in a neighborhood he'd visited many times on other cases. Pulsing lights of bright red and blue from the top of the patrol car at the curb brought Nick's mind back into focus. He squinted and pulled his vehicle in behind the black and white. As Nick got out of the truck, his eyes strained to recognize the officer working the scene with him. Officer Cottingham was a nice guy, not a rookie but still relatively new to the force. Nick had seen him around at other scenes, and he greeted the man with a jerk of the head.

"Hey, Craig," he said.

"Nick." Cottingham matched Nick's stride as they approached the house. "Tough break, huh?"

Nick turned to look at him, brow furrowed. "How do you mean?"

Cottingham shrugged nonchalantly. "It's just a B and E."

Nick sighed. "Why does everyone keep saying that?"

"Huh?"

Nick shook his head. "Never mind." He stopped on the front step of the cracker-jack suburban two-story and waited for the rundown from the officer.

Cottingham put his hands on his hips and jerked his head to the house. "House belongs to the Parkers. Carey and…Joan," he said, cocking his head to remember the couple's names. "Two kids. Whole family's out of town."

Nick bent to inspect the lock on the front door, which had obviously been picked. "Neighbor call it in?"

"Yup."

"Okay." Nick straightened and looked up to the second story windows. "Did they get away with anything?"

Cottingham shook his head. "Not that I saw. All major appliances and electronics seem to be accounted for. Little old lady next door called 911 before they had the time, I guess."

Nick frowned. "Then why am I here?"

Cottingham offered him nothing more than a shrug and opened the door for Nick to enter.

_Perfect_. There was barely evidence to recover from the scene. The most he could do was dust the lock and knob for prints and call it a night. The damned cop could have handled it.

Nick felt his shoulders sag. It really was a pity send-off. Grissom had dug up the most mundane crime scene he could find and given it to Nick, pretending he would be doing the man a huge favor by taking the case off of his hands.

Nick went through the processing motions – walk through the house; pictures of the lock, windows, and both front and back doors; dusted the lock and door; bagged the piece that had broken off. He did it all with his jaw set, not really focusing on his actions, his anger rising throughout the half an hour he spent at the house.

He'd been letting a lot slide recently. Overuse of the already nearly-annoying "Nicky," everyone looking over his shoulder but acting horribly like they weren't, being asked how he was doing about seventeen hundred times a day, nearly half of those inquiries coming from his constantly ringing phone. He responded each time with a smile. He played along and let Gris, Catherine, Brass, Warrick, Sara, and even Greg think he didn't know they were keeping tabs on him. He'd learned pretty quickly that if he didn't answer his cell phone or any page right away it would induce panic in whoever was calling. He'd gotten so used to unexpected visitors he kept extra beer in the fridge for the guys. What really bothered Nick was that not one of them seemed to notice how much work on his part was going into keeping _them_ happy. And here was the one thing Grissom could have done to return the favor, and he didn't follow through. He could have given Nick one of the dead bodies. Nick remembered how long it had taken him to get his first solo DB; Warrick had gotten them first because Nick had been deemed "not ready."

It could only mean that Grissom once again thought he wasn't ready. He'd attempted to humor him, sure, and evidently thought Nick had the intellectual capacity of an eight-year-old, oblivious to this fact. _Well, Gris, my man, I can tell._

Nick fumed silently on the drive back to the lab. He made sure he remained aware of what he was doing, that his mind didn't do the wandering thing now. He wanted to remain angry until he got back or he would talk himself out of what he really wanted to do, which was to talk to Grissom and resolve this, once for all.

It was no surprise to find most of the parking lot empty. Everyone else was running real scenes, working real cases, Nick noted bitterly. He swung the truck into the same spot he'd so recently vacated and stalked into the lab, going straight to Grissom's office in the back. In the back of his mind, Nick noted the lab wasn't nearly as quiet as it had been before. Now there were phones ringing and people chatting, possibly only more noticeable now due to the fact David Hodges was in the lab.

"And what did little Nicky bring home for daddy?" the tech asked in a mock childish voice.

Nick wasn't in the mood for Hodges, and didn't even spare a glance at the man as he passed, slinging his single evidence bag into a nearby table. He entered Grissom's office without knocking – a first – and caused the singing bass mounted above the door to croon. Nick usually gave the singing fish the courtesy of a small laugh, but not tonight. Tonight, it was annoying.

"Gris, can I talk to you a sec?" Nick asked, shutting the door before Grissom could reply.

Grissom appeared confused as Nick plopped himself into a chair. He set a few papers aside and took off his glasses. "Sure, Nicky."

Nick gritted his teeth. This was exactly what he was talking about. He leaned forward in his chair, and for some reason this action caused Grissom to lean back in his. "Why did you give me that case?" he asked.

Grissom frowned. "Because I felt that you were ready to be on your own again in the field."

Nick laughed darkly, steeling himself to speak his mind and not pull his punches. "Then give me a real case, Grissom. That wasn't even a freakin' burglary!"

Grissom calmly set his glasses aside and folded his hands in front of him, patiently assessing Nick's posture and demeanor, and Nick really hated when he did that. "I got the call about a B and E, and I thought it was the perfect case to give you, because it would only require one CSI. Apparently I was wrong."

Nick could detect a hint of sarcasm in his last words. _Oh no, _he thought, _he is not going to turn this around on me_.

"Bull shit," he blurted, and Grissom recoiled. Nick had never spoken this way with him before. _Gotta go with it now_, Nick thought, refusing to shrink back as Grissom's surprised expression morphed slowly to one of confusion and anger. "You knew this was a way for you to make me think that you think I'm ready when you don't, even though I think that I am." Nick sat back heavily in his chair and crossed his arms.

Grissom studied him for a moment, his mouth open. "I'm not even sure that I know what you just said, Nick."

Such a comment might have usually lightened the tension, even caused Nick to laugh, but not now. "Then listen to me, Grissom! I'm right here."

"I can see that, Nick."

"Again with the elusive sarcastic comments. Damn it, would you just talk to me, for once!" Nick could feel his face flushing, whether from the anger or the beginnings of the embarrassment he was sure to be feeling later, he wasn't sure.

Grissom sighed, and Nick steeled himself for a lecture. It'd been awhile since he'd had one of those.

"What is it you want me to say? It's been long enough since…you've been showing remarkable progress for what you've been through, Nick, and I know you must think we're all waiting around for you to fall apart, but it's not like that at all."

Nick snorted but waited for Grissom to continue.

He did. "I wanted to show you that I believed you were ready, and when I got the B and E, I thought it was a nice place to start. I guess I shouldn't have bothered."

Nick's jaw dropped at Grissom's ability to turn this into a fight over Nick's ingratitude. "A nice place to start? Hell, Grissom, Archie could have processed that scene. This isn't the way to show that you believe in me. Give me a DB, man." Nick felt his anger dulling down. He shouldn't have been surprised; this was just what Grissom did. Or better yet, didn't do. He didn't understand people. He didn't have any idea where Nick was coming from, and probably never would.

Grissom sighed, stared down at his desk for a long moment, and then finally said something Nick never would have expected. "You're right."

And Nick found himself suddenly at a loss for words.

"Tomorrow night, I'll get you a real case, Nicky. All yours." Grissom turned back to the papers littering his desktop, signifying the conversation was over.

"Okay," Nick said quietly. Maybe he should have thanked his supervisor, but he was still holding onto a miniscule bit of anger he'd had with him upon entering the office.

He waited in his chair for a moment, but Grissom was making a point to not look at him. Nick nodded to himself and left the office quietly.

With his single bit of evidence having already been picked up and without another case to work on, Nick wandered the halls slowly until he heard the cheery voices of the rest of his team, back from their crime scenes. Nick plastered a grin on his face as he entered the room.

"Hey, Nicky," Catherine said, moving across the room to give him a small hug, another little something that was getting on his nerves.

Nick smiled and returned the hug as he added the 'Nicky' to the tally he was keeping in his head. "You guys all back already?" he asked.

All four nodded. "Waiting on evidence," Sara said.

"Yeah, me, too," Nick lied. He knew Hodges wasn't going to get anything off the lock except maybe the type of tool used to pick it, and the odds of that actually leading somewhere weren't exactly in his favor.

"Yeah," Warrick said, clapping him on the back. "Heard you were Han Solo tonight, man."

"Too bad it's just a B and E, though," Sara added, scrunching her nose sympathetically.

"Yeah," Nick said, giving the same nonchalant shrug Officer Cottingham had given him earlier. "Too bad."

* * *

To be continued...


	2. Unwanted Visitors

_Chapter Two: Unwanted Visitors_

It had been almost too easy, making himself scarce in the lab. With everyone working their cases and processing their evidence no one noticed Nick slip out, relocating himself and his bad mood down the hall to the locker room where he could sit alone a few moments and simmer down. He was still on the clock, technically, and any other night would offer to help with one of the others' cases but wasn't in a mood to be hanging around any of them at the moment.

Nick knew it wasn't fair to compare the emotional capacity of Gil Grissom to that of the rest of his team, but something just kept nagging at him. Grissom obviously didn't think Nick was able to handle himself out in the field alone despite his recent, albeit reluctant, offer of a solo case. But what about the rest of them? He knew they were all keeping what they considered a discreet eye on him, but maybe it was more than worry. Maybe they were simply watching for him to screw up so they could rush in and fix it before Ecklie found out. Nick shuddered at the thought.

He'd been under the impression they were making progress but when he really thought about it, they were progressing so contradictorily that it made his head hurt. Sometimes his friends seemed to ignore the fact he might still be feeling aftereffects of what had happened, and other times it appeared they blamed his actions on that very incident.

Nick remembered the bunker, might always remember the damned bunker; that cold stone structure in the middle of the sweltering desert that had very nearly caused him to falter in the field. He'd had heavy legs that day as he'd forced himself to take each small step towards the building, each shaky step down the stairwell, arms pulled tightly to his body so no one passing could touch him. If someone had, he might have lost it completely. He'd been sweating before he even made it to the stairs, and it had nothing to do with the desert heat.

It was in that moment Nick had the stark realization there were going to be moments like this, unwilling and reoccurring aftershocks of his experience, no matter how hard he fought to suppress them or pretend otherwise. Nightmares were to be expected, but those were private. This was a reaction out there for the world to see. It hadn't been something he could shove to the back of his mind but a rebellion the part of his body, a physiological response, and he learned the hard way he had no control over that. He'd had to sit in the truck, air conditioning blasting for a full ten minutes before he'd been able to leave the scene.

He hoped, but wasn't sure, that no one else had noticed. He'd still been sweating slightly, panting when he joined up with Catherine in the chamber with the bodies. She'd most likely, or at least hopefully, attributed the beads of sweat to the heat, it not even crossing her mind how he was staring her down like she was his lifeline, refusing to look at any of the walls enclosing him in what felt to be a much smaller room than it was. They could have called him out there on purpose, to see how he would handle himself under the stress of working a case underground in a small, dark space with no fresh air. Maybe in retrospect, someone had realized what might have happened. Nick had been mere moments away from a full-blown panic attack. If he hadn't come across Cath when he did, things may have gone a different direction.

Or it might not have passed their minds at all, and maybe that was no one's fault but his own. He could have said something, told someone how uncomfortable he felt. He could have excused himself from the bunker and they would have understood. But then there would have been the looks. The inquiries. _Are you okay?_

That was Grissom and Catherine. Nick had to admit, he was surprised to think of them as a matching set. Cath was always the first one to jump on his case if he looked the least bit downcast, so her disinterest in that bunker was out of character. It might have just been the sheer volume of bodies on the case, and maybe it was just too much work to make time to coddle Nick.

On the opposite end of the spectrum was Sara. The accuser. Damn her for being so observant.

The McBride case had without a doubt been the most difficult for him since the abduction, without being conscious of a concrete reason _why_. He'd been overcome with the feeling _he_ had to rescue that little girl; it wasn't often he got the chance to do so. He still wasn't entirely convinced this feeling or his actions during the case had been strictly motivated by his kidnapping, but Sara of course had thought otherwise. She pushed him, she cornered him, she questioned his actions…and he managed, for now, to wave it all away with a smile.

Warrick was starting forward for Team Sara. It seemed every time Nick looked up Warrick was watching him with those piercing green eyes, grown darker and sadder over the past few months. He knew Warrick was still harboring some guilt and no matter how many times Nick told him he had no reason to be, Warrick still had that look. _Are you okay?_

Tina was helping, and Nick was grateful for her presence in his friend's life. She was a nice distraction from the real world, though that was a little harsh. She really was helping Warrick, however out of nowhere she'd seem to appear. He wasn't stopping by the house as often as he had been in the beginning, now that he had someone at his own home to keep him busy.

If half the team was living in a fantasy world where Nick wasn't suffering any ill aftereffects of what had happened and the other half were figuring that every single thing he did resulted from what he'd been through, where did that leave him?

Nick's shoulders sagged. It was possible he'd screwed up the team dynamic for good. Grissom ignored him for the most part. Catherine just gave him that look like she was terrified he was going to break but she didn't want to risk say anything about it. Warrick was quiet, watchful, rash, and under the surface, a pot close to boiling over. He'd always been hotheaded, but still thought his actions through carefully. Nick was still trying to figure out his spontaneous marriage, unwilling to take the credit for it. Sara, like Warrick, seemed to be harboring some kind of anger, and too often it appeared she was on the verge of tears. Also like Warrick, she was keeping pretty quiet, afraid it would spill out and she would unleash her wrath upon an innocent passerby who was kind enough to say 'hello.' Out of all of them, Greg seemed to be himself. Maybe not quite as loud as he used to be, but hadn't retreated to the background quite like when he'd first entered the field. It seemed he was trying his damnedest to hold everyone together, and someone sure needed to. There was no arguing the fact they'd begun to drift apart.

That was how he saw them when they didn't know he was looking. Oh, when they were all together, it was great fun. Games in the break room, jokes in the lab…but it seemed like a cheap cover-up. He didn't even feel _real_ around them anymore, more like he was watching from a distance. Every smile strained, every laugh forced, and no one was any the wiser. It was true what they said: ignorance was bliss. Too bad Nick didn't know anything about that.

"What happened to waiting on evidence?"

Nick startled and looked up with surprise at Catherine, looking down at him with a small smile and her best mom-eyes. Whether he was in for a hug or a lecture, he wasn't quite sure yet. He looked around sheepishly. _Maybe spacing out on the locker room bench isn't the most effective way to keep up appearances._

"I am," he said, the words sounding hollow and lame even to his own ears.

"Oh," Catherine said, not believing him and not bothering to act as though she did. She lowered herself to sit next to him on the bench, and Nick pretended to be very interested in his pager. "The lockers doing your fingerprint analysis for you?"

"I'm waiting for a page," he answered, lifting his chin defiantly.

Catherine gave him a look. "Nick."

Nick shrugged and rolled his eyes. "Fine, I'm not waiting on anything. I don't have anything to wait on."

"I thought Grissom gave you that B and E."

Nick snorted. "Yeah. There wasn't exactly a lot to process." Catherine frowned at him questioningly, and Nick realized she was waiting for an explanation. "It's nothing."

And there was the head-tilt.

"Really," he insisted.

And the face. And Nick knew he wasn't leaving the room until he gave her something.

He looked away and sighed. "Grissom just…" His head whipped around, eyes narrow. "Do you think that I can run a solo? Now, I mean."

Catherine raised her eyebrows, seemingly taken aback by the abruptness of his question. "I think you're a great CSI, Nick, you know that. You've run solo cases before."

"I'm not talking about that." Nick shook his head. "Do you think I can handle it?" He swallowed, realizing what he was setting himself up for. "Emotionally?"

Catherine's lips parted, and she took a moment to think about her answer. A moment giving Nick enough time to realize he didn't want an answer.

"I think it doesn't really matter what I think," she said slowly. "When you're ready, then you're ready, and you should be able to work any case you feel you can handle."

_Well, that wasn't so bad._ "I wish Grissom thought that way," Nick mumbled, realizing a little too late he'd said it out loud.

"What are you talking about?"

Nick shook his head. He felt his shoulders fall, and his hands hung limply between his knees. Despite his intense desire to shut up and ignore the fact the conversation was taking place, he couldn't find the kid in him that wanted to open up to Catherine, and his façade collapsed like a house of cards. "I don't know. Sometimes I think Grissom just doesn't understand."

"What doesn't he understand?"

Nick gave her a small smile. "Anything?"

Catherine laughed lightly. "Yeah, I feel that way, too, sometimes. What isn't he understanding right now?"

"Just this whole solo thing," Nick said with a dismissive wave of his hand. He wasn't sure he wanted such a small thing to blow up into a huge deal, but it was nice Catherine had noticed and was taking some interest.

"What do you mean?"

Except Nick got so excited over someone willing to talk about it, he forgot what came with the territory of Talking to Catherine. He felt the tickle in the back of his throat of the build-up of all the things he wanted to say, and at the same time he heard that tiny voice in the back of his mind ordering him to shut the hell up because she was only going to go straight to Grissom and stir the pot.

"It just meant a lot, you know? And I don't think he got it." Nick compromised, letting out just enough to satisfy his desire to vent and Catherine's incessant need to know everything that was going on.

Cath patted his knee lightly. "Do you want me to talk to him?"

_God, no._ "Nah," Nick said with a smile. 'It's cool, really, doesn't need to be made into a thing."

The smile Catherine gave him in return wasn't necessarily disingenuous, but too big by far. "Sure," she said. "Well, I gotta get back and check on some fibers."

Nick nodded. The alarmingly wide smile stayed in place as Catherine left the locker room.

When the door swung shut, Nick leaned back until his head thudded against the row of lockers behind him. He had a sinking feeling he'd just started something that couldn't be taken back, and couldn't be going anywhere good.

* * *

"I have to admit, I'm proud of you."

Gil's head snapped up in surprise at the sound of Catherine's voice from the other side of his desk. He hadn't even heard her come into his office.

_I have to put a bell on her._ He was surprised she was even in the lab at this hour. The sun was still setting, and all of the cases they'd taken on the previous night had wrapped up smoothly, giving no reason for her to come in early.

Gil sucked in a long breath. No reason to come in early unless she wanted to talk, which usually meant he was in trouble. He leaned back in his chair and eyed her suspiciously. "And why's that?"

Catherine smiled tightly. "You've mastered a level of insensitive prick I'd thought was beyond even your reach. You're entering Ecklie territory." She cocked her head in that way she had, gauging his reaction.

Gil's eyes narrowed. He was right about apparently being in trouble, without any idea what in the world was going on with his team. It didn't seem anyone was having trouble saying what was on their mind, regardless of its appropriateness. "Look, Catherine, if this is about that overtime I forgot to record last week…"

Catherine frowned. "No. But we're going to talk about _that_ later." She took a few steps closer and sunk into a chair. "I was talking about the way you're treating Nick."

Gil pulled off his glasses. He was apparently not going to be getting any work done at all this week. "I'm not treating him like anything."

"Nick thinks you gave him the B and E just to shut him up."

Gil sighed patiently. "I've already spoken with Nick about the case. It's been made clear to me it was the wrong move to make, one I'm trying to rectify."

"How?"

"I told him he could have a DB tonight."

"Why?"

She was baiting him, and he knew it. Gil did his best to sidestep the trap. "Because it's what he wants."

Catherine shook her head. He'd evidently failed and stepped directly onto a land mine disguised as a one-word question. "What he wants is to know you believe in him and you think he's capable of handling a scene by himself."

Gil hesitated, and she pounced. "You don't, do you?"

He slowly let out a breath. "Do you?"

Catherine hesitated as well. Gil could read in her eyes she wasn't all that thrilled about the prospect. "This isn't about what we think, it's about what he wants and feels he can handle."

Gil took the time to think of a way to word what he wanted to say without sounding insensitive. "I know you want Nick to feel good about himself, but we have a lot more to think about than that."

"What do you mean?"

"You heard just as much as I did about his behavior regarding the McBride case."

Catherine's mouth dropped open, just as Gil knew it would. "That was a single incident, you can't hold it against him – "

"It was a big incident, Catherine. He could have ended up jeopardizing the case, or it could have come back to reflect poorly on the lab – "

"And it was something that might have happened no matter what he'd gone through. The case got to him, and he acted recklessly, I'll admit, but it could have happened to any of us."

Gil sighed again, another patient sigh. "But it didn't."

Catherine glared at him for several long moments, shaking her head. "It was a one-time thing," she said finally.

"How can you be sure?"

Catherine threw her hands out in frustration. 'Well, because it hasn't happened again since."

"That doesn't mean it won't."

"That doesn't mean it will," she shot back.

"I'm going to try to get him to work a solo case tonight if there's one to be had, Catherine. What more do you want from me?"

Catherine chewed her lip for a moment, regarding him carefully. "What I want doesn't matter. I know you mean well for the lab…but we need to think about Nick and what he wants."

"He wants a solo, I gave him a solo," Gil said. He absentmindedly picked up his glasses and started twirling them.

Catherine rose. "He wants more than the solo, Gil."

Gil wasn't sure how he was meant to respond to her statement. Catherine was being cryptic again; there was some subtext to what she was saying but as usual, he wasn't sure he was picking up on just what it was she was trying to tell him.

He opened his mouth to ask for clarification, but she had left his office just as quietly as she had come in.

Gil said a silent thanks to the gods of office work for him to have something to keep himself occupied until the rest of his team arrived. All too often he found himself feeling like a scolded child sent to his room after an exchange with Catherine. He was supposed to be thinking about something, she'd made that much clear; he just wasn't quite sure what it was she wanted him to think about. He'd told her quite clearly how he felt about the situation.

Gil pulled his glasses back on and looked down at the case files covering the surface of his desk. He picked up his pen and reached for a file.

"Hey, Gil." A nauseatingly familiar voice chirped amiably as Conrad Ecklie let himself into the office.

"Conrad." Gil watched with a frown as the man stood at his bookshelf with his hands in his pockets. Ecklie chuckled nervously at the variously sized aquariums and terrariums filling the shelves.

_This just goes to show that nothing good comes from procrastinating_, Gil thought, once again shuffling papers out of the way. Ecklie wouldn't have come into enemy territory unless it was necessary.

Ecklie turned and made his way over to Gil's desk, easing himself into the chair. "Comfortable," he noted with an air of surprise.

Gil's frown deepened. "Is there something I can help you with, Conrad?"

Ecklie smiled tightly. "I'm sure you're aware of our lab review coming up next week."

Gil sat back and gave a general nod, trying not to let on that he had no idea what Ecklie was talking about.

"I mean, if you've been reading the memos I've been sending your way," Ecklie said with a knowing smile.

Gil had gotten the memos, but without reading them had immediately filed them in the special filing system he reserved for messages from the assistant director: the garbage can.

"Of course," he said, returning the smile. He could have sworn he saw Ecklie's lip curl in disgust.

"Well, I've been going through the stats, and it looks like Greg Sanders is the only field CSI on payroll without a solo case credit on his file."

Gil nodded, fighting the urge to shake his head at the other man's single-mindedness. It just figured that Ecklie was using this opportunity to pick on the graveyard shift. "And you want the lab to look good come review day."

Ecklie smiled. "You got it." He rose out of the chair. "It doesn't have to be anything too grand, we just want to get Sanders' name on it. Toss him a softball, something a tech could handle. See if PD has a B and E."

_A B and E… _Gil's lips parted slightly as he remembered what he'd told Nick the night before, not to mention the conversation he'd just had with Catherine. Warrick was off that night, and there was already a double homicide sitting on his desk. He wasn't all that certain he was going to be able to cover the caseload _and_ have both Nick and Greg on solo cases.

"And Gil?"

Gil looked up. Ecklie was already on his way out of the office. "Get it done tonight."

* * *

To be continued...


	3. Just Saying

_Chapter Three: Just Saying_

It had started raining early in the morning and it hadn't let up even the slightest by nightfall, and Sara and Nick were soaked to the bone by the time they reached the WLVU campus. They walked through the wooded campus in silence; the only audible sounds the cascade of harsh pats of raindrops hitting Sara's umbrella and the splash of their shoes landing in numerous puddles. Sara had offered to share her umbrella several times but Nick declined each time with a slight shake of his head, showering her with more droplets. The umbrella didn't seem to be doing her much good anyways, not with the added force of a strong wind. The ends of her short brown hair were wet and curling and she'd given up trying to wipe the rainwater from her face. Nick was fine with his ball cap pulled low on his head. It suited his mood. Kind of like the metaphorical rain cloud following him wherever he went. It didn't take long for their usually swift pace to slow considerably as the hems of their jeans weighed down with rainwater.

They weren't in a huge hurry. Rain was hell on a crime scene, and Nick doubted they would find anything useful. That was probably why Grissom sent two CSIs to the scene. Two sets of eyes would be better for finding any evidence that might have survived. So he couldn't really be mad…could he?

He could. Nick heard Sara sigh but didn't look over at her, concentrating instead on keeping a close eye on the sidewalk stretching before him.

"Are you going to talk at all?" she finally asked.

Nick looked up and fought the urge to shrug. "Didn't know there was anything to say."

"Be pissed at Grissom all you want, but don't take it out on me," she said firmly and increased her pace, with difficulty, to pull a few steps ahead of Nick.

_She's right_, he thought, but kept any apology to himself. He matched her stride and the two continued to trudge slowly across the campus.

The call had come in at about the same time the CSIs were arriving at the lab that evening. 419 at Western Las Vegas University; a call more common than any of them would have liked. And the cases coming from the university were never simple, never cut and dry, and what was worse, the victims were kids. College kids, but still kids. Too young to end up as 419 calls.

Though he would never have admitted it to anyone, because they wouldn't understand, Nick had actually been excited about coming into work. It was a feeling he hadn't felt in, well, months. Work had ceased being exciting and had started to feel like something he was obligated to do. He still went in every night because he wanted to help people, that hadn't changed; he just didn't enjoy the work as much as he used to. What had once been challenging and stimulating was now…nerve wracking. Nick was never quite sure when something was going to jump out at him and throw him off. Something like a bug, or a small space he hadn't been warned about, or a maniac planning to use him as a pawn in some sick vengeance game.

But the work was still enjoyable, to some extent, as morbid as that was. He liked the people he worked with and the forensics had never ceased to interest him. The job was still challenging, and he was good at it. He just didn't look forward to it as much as he used to.

He'd looked forward to it that night. Sure, he was a little nervous about walking into the break room, and for a good reason. He was almost positive Catherine had said something to Grissom, even if she'd told him she would drop it. But even if she had spoken with him…Grissom had already told him he was getting a DB tonight. It was a strange, nearly sociopathic thing to be excited about, but that excitement hadn't lasted long. Not at all.

When Nick entered the break room everyone else was already assembled, minus Warrick. Half of the room was working hard to avoid eye contact with Nick. Catherine was chewing on a fingernail, a little too casually. Grissom was in the middle of handing a slip of paper to Greg, who seemed nervously eager, and the older man's eyes darted to the door and back as Nick entered. Greg didn't notice, and instead hurriedly grabbed up his jacket from a chair.

"Thanks, Grissom," he said. "I mean, this is really, really – "

"Sure, Greg," Grissom interrupted, quietly accepting the thanks.

Greg pulled on his jacket and grinned at Nick as he went to pass him in the doorway. "I got my first solo, man," he said, jabbing Nick excitedly in the arm.

Grissom looked away at the comment.

Nick was slightly taken aback. Greg was still a level one, and Nick had been a level three for almost a year before he'd gotten his first solo from Grissom. Despite his confusion, he managed a smile for his friend. "Great, man. That's great."

After Greg left the room, Nick turned to his supervisor with a questioning look. He jerked a thumb at the door. "What's that about?"

It was with obvious hesitancy, a recurring theme with Grissom's recent actions, that he raised his eyes to meet Nick's. "Ecklie," he said.

Nick wasn't quite sure he understood the implication, but he shrugged it off. "What do you have for me?" he asked.

Grissom once again looked away.

And here he was, walking with Sara in the rain because of Ecklie's desire to make the lab look good and, for some unfounded reason, Grissom's desire to make Ecklie look good. And he was not too happy about it. Grissom had tried to explain, but it had sounded like nothing but excuses, and bad ones.

The rain was doing nothing for his already sour mood, and Sara's continuous sighs weren't helping, either. She was right, and he knew it. She hadn't done anything except come into work. He felt ashamed of himself for getting so worked up over something so stupid. "How far is this body, anyway?"

Sara glanced at him irritably, flinching as another barrage of raindrops assaulted her face.

"You guys CSI?"

The two turned in the direction of the voice. Barely illuminated by the harsh glow of a single street lamp, a large blue tarp was heaped under a cluster of trees off to their left, about thirty feet from the sidewalk. Standing next to the tarp, looking thoroughly drenched and miserable, was an LVPD officer waving them over.

Nick frowned and made his way through the mud and matted leaves. His boots sunk into the ground and almost tripped him up. "Kinda off the beaten path, aren't ya?"

The officer shrugged and turned up the collar of his jacket. "I don't pick where people dump bodies."

Sara stepped forward and cocked her head at the tarp. "It was a body dump?"

"I'm just guessing. Couldn't tell how long it'd been here. We got the body covered as quickly as we could. Already soaked," he added, off of Sara's questioning look.

Nick squinted and looked up at the sky, dark and blank through the leaves of the trees. If it would just stop raining, then maybe they could get some work done. But even without the rain, their chances of finding any worthwhile evidence was pretty much shot to hell.

"Well, until the rain stops, we can't risk moving anything and losing any evidence under the body," Sara said. She pulled her hair over her shoulder and wrung it out.

The officer's face fell. "So we wait."

Nick and Sara exchanged a look. Nick sighed, not exactly thrilled at the prospect. "We wait."

* * *

Catherine's attention was drawn to the store's front window as another slew of raindrops assaulted the glass. The dark convenience store was illuminated with flashes of blue and red, giving it an eerie quality accentuated by the fact there was a dead body lying mere feet from her.

_It's really coming down at there._ She flinched, grateful she was working a scene indoors. Her thoughts went to Nick and Sara, working the case at the university.

Catherine turned to her partner at the scene, none other than the great Gil Grissom, himself. He had been uncharacteristically quiet since they'd arrived. "Do you think they'll find anything in this?"

"No." He didn't even look up, eyes instead trained on the beam of his flashlight as it swept through the cramped store.

It was obvious Gil didn't want to talk, but if there was one thing Catherine had no control over, it was her brain, which just never seemed to stop thinking. Once the wheels started turning, there was no stopping it. "You know what I've noticed?"

Grissom still refused to look up at her. "That we're at a crime scene and should be focusing all of our attention on collecting evidence?"

Catherine rolled her eyes. To pacify him, she grabbed the mini-flashlight out of her kit and started walking the perimeter of the space. "I've noticed you haven't been working a whole lot of scenes with Nick lately." Grissom shot an irritated look her way and she raised her hands defensively. "I'm just saying."

Grissom turned back to his light, this time moving back to the center of the store, to the body. "You've been saying a lot lately."

Catherine shrugged. "I observe people. It's my job."

"Your job is to collect evidence."

"And part of that evidence comes from what I observe," Catherine responded smartly, stepping over shards of a broken bottle.

Grissom raised his eyes enough to give her another annoyed glance and started to remove a few fibers from the body. "What's your point?"

Catherine started to walk back to the body as well. "No point," she said innocently, handing Grissom a small evidence bag.

"You're just saying?"

"I'm just saying."

* * *

"I'm just saying," Nick said loudly as he and Sara and sloshed their way into the crime lab. He wasn't normally one to provoke an argument, but he was wet, cold, and had the headache to end all headaches. Their little outing to the university hadn't exactly gone smoothly.

"You're just saying what?" Sara asked just as loudly, throwing her arms out in frustration. Her right side was caked in congealing mud, and it didn't help Nick's mood that now also was the passenger seat of the truck.

The two had been arguing since they left the university campus to return to the lab. Nick was still in a bad mood, and Sara had been a bit touchy lately, and the two had progressively regressed into bickering teenagers over the past couple of hours. The fact they were both soaked and freezing didn't help matters any.

Nick shrugged and continued to make his way through the halls of the lab. "If you hadn't moved the tarp, then maybe we would have more evidence to work with." For emphasis, he held up their singe evidence bag, containing a swath of cloth they'd collected from underneath the body.

"And if you'd helped me instead of letting me slip and fall, I wouldn't have landed on the tarp and pulled it off of the body," Sara replied angrily.

"I wasn't anywhere near you," Nick argued, though they both knew he'd been close enough to stop her fall had he been a little more motivated. "And you probably ruined the little bit evidence we had left to actually collect."

"The rain would have ruined it anyway," Sara said, her voice rising.

"Won't know now, will we?"

"You know what?" Sara stopped in her tracks, disregarding the fact they were still in the middle of a crowded hallway and were attracting an audience. She fixed Nick with a fierce glare. "Knock it off with the attitude, Nick. I know you wanted to work solo tonight, but there are more important things going on than satisfying your ego."

Nick heard a snigger from somewhere to his right. _So help me, God, that better not be Hodges._ He wasn't given a chance to find out, as he was subjected to a continued tongue-lashing from Sara.

"You have really turned into a piece of work lately," she said, peeling off her wet, muddy jacket with disgust.

Usually, Nick would have responded to such a comment with a wide-eyed 'who me?' look, but now, he crossed his arms and returned Sara's glare. "What are you talking about?"

"You're confrontational, unreasonable, irrational," she said, ticking the items off on her fingers with an annoyed air. "You're not thinking things through…come to think of it, you're not thinking at all – " She was no longer talking about his attitude regarding their present case, and he knew it. She was talking about the McBride case.

"I made one bad call, Sara," Nick said, defending himself, his temper rising. "It's not like you've never done something stupid while dealing with a difficult case."

Sara was angry, and on a roll, and the implication seemed to spur her on even more. The things she was saying were starting to be a little less work-related. "You don't talk to anyone. You mope around here like – "

"Like, what, Sara?" Nick interrupted, sick of being analyzed and yelled at in front of his coworkers. He found himself taking a step forward. "Like I almost died?"

Maybe he wasn't aware of just how loud the two had gotten, or of the crowd of people that had assembled to see this unnatural and unprecedented argument between two people closer than most of them could ever hope to be with a coworker.

The silence that fell onto everyone in the hallway was unlike anything they'd ever experienced. It went beyond the silence of the middle of the night, beyond the silence of death; those were tense but familiar quiets. If it had in fact been David Hodges who'd let the chuckle slip, he was now rendered as silent as the rest of them. No one moved, and it felt as though no one even breathed. The observers watched in embarrassed silence, ashamed they were so enthralled in the fight and wishing they hadn't just witnessed this moment. No one wanted to be the first to move and attract the attention of everyone else.

Sara stood still and silent, her lips parted slightly, her eyes slowly welling. Whether from anger, guilt, regret, or indignation, it wasn't quite clear. Her eyes were dark and sharp and boring holes straight into Nick's heart. Her lips moved slowly, as though she was trying to speak, maybe yell…maybe apologize…but no words came out of her mouth.

Nick felt a familiar sting behind his own eyes but he fought it, not wanting to offer any validity to Sara's words. All he needed now was to be seen crying in the middle of the crime lab. He'd acknowledged something out loud he hadn't even let himself think about, let alone verbalize. He always had a tendency to let things slip out when he was irritated, and he and Sara had been butting heads all night. It wasn't right for him to be taking his anger out on her, but it was too late now; he couldn't take it back. And strange as the outburst itself was, even stranger was the fact it didn't make Nick feel anything. For a brief moment, he wasn't sorry, and he didn't feel any better after getting some of the tension out. And even stranger than that was the tickling feeling in the back of his throat of even more words clawing their way out.

"I'm sorry," Nick continued in a low tone, "if I'm not getting over this quickly enough to fit into your schedule. We all know how busy _it_ is."

Sara's eyes narrowed, and glistened even more, and she silently watched him turn and walk out of the lab.

* * *

To be continued...


	4. A River in Egypt

_Chapter Four: A River in Egypt_

He kind of wished she would have said something._ Anything _would have been better than just standing there. He didn't figure how the situation could have gotten any worse.

Nick paused once he made it outside, taking a breath of the cool, early morning air, and locked his fingers behind his head. He tried to tell himself he never would have said those things if he hadn't been provoked…but lately, maybe he would have. Nick sighed. _What did I just do? What in the hell is wrong with me?_

"What in the hell is wrong with you?"

Nick's head whipped to the left, towards the sound of Catherine's voice. He'd had no idea she and Gris had made it back to the lab yet, hadn't even noticed she'd been among the crowd of onlookers. They'd performed for a full house.

He met Catherine's eyes for the briefest of moments and returned his gaze towards the misty, gray parking lot. At least it'd stopped raining. "You saw that?"

Catherine laughed incredulously. "Of course I saw it, Nick. The whole damned lab saw it!"

The whole damned lab. Nick sucked in a breath and for the first time hoped to God Grissom had been holed away in his office. He tried to figure out in his head how long it would take his boss to find out about the fight, if in fact he hadn't witnessed the exchange firsthand. Sara would surely run to him, she always did. And if she didn't, it was pretty much a given that Catherine now would. Either way, things wouldn't look well for him with the women involved.

Nick could feel Catherine's eyes on him, and he hesitantly looked up to meet them. She looked pissed, to put it lightly, and was apparently expecting some kind of response. When Nick didn't oblige she continued, grasping his forearm firmly. "I stuck up for you, Nick, and this is what you do?"

Nick opened his mouth to protest. This wasn't entirely his fault; there had been two of them fighting in the hall. And he hadn't asked her to go to Grissom. He had never once asked her to play mediator between the two of them. Her next comment, however, stopped him.

"You want to get out there on your own again?"

Nick's eyes widened in response to her harshly spoken question. He supposed that was how this whole thing had started. He slowly nodded.

Catherine's eyes bit into him fiercely. "Then you need to grow up."

Nick was taken aback, and his mouth dropped open. This wasn't what Catherine was supposed to do. Catherine was supposed to be the one on his side. Whether he asked her to or not, she stuck up for him every time he needed it. She was his fallback, always there to help him. And how here she was, ripping into him. "Cath – "

"Sara wasn't trying to be mean – "

Now she was defending Sara. He could count on one hand that number of times _that_ had happened. She'd switched teams on him.

Nick snorted, and Catherine's grip on his forearm increased. She was stronger than he would have thought. He winced and tried to pull away, but she wouldn't let him.

"I understand," she said, softer but still with a good amount of frustration, "that you aren't quite yourself yet. And I understand," she continued quickly, before Nick could interject, "that you're still having problems. It's completely okay for you to need time. You went through hell. But _you_ need to understand that we're having trouble, too." Her face softened, and she released his arm.

Nick cocked his head with an odd mixture of consideration and indignation, but he kept any comments to himself. He had a feeling Catherine wasn't finished with him just yet.

"Everyone in there that cares about you…you don't know what we went through, watching you down there. Everyone is dealing with it in their own way. Obviously these methods aren't mixing together well, but we're all trying."

There was another pause, one it seemed to be Nick's job to fill, and he nodded again, not wanting to risk opening his mouth. He wasn't sure what he might find himself saying.

"Now," Catherine said firmly. "Take a minute, take a breath, and then go in there and talk to Sara. I'm not going to let this team fall apart."

Nick nodded, though noncommittally. "I'm sorry, Cath." The words caught in his throat, most likely owing to the fact he wasn't really sure what he was apologizing for, and he swallowed.

She patted his arm, smiling gently, likely thinking he was just getting emotional on her. "Take a minute," she said again. "And don't be sorry, just stop being so…"

Nick looked at her, hoping she would finish the thought and give him some answers. What _was_ he being?

He didn't get an answer. Catherine closed lamely with another small smile. She turned and moved back to the double doors of the lab.

"Catherine," Nick called over his shoulder.

She turned. "Yeah?"

He wanted to tell her to finish her sentence, to give him some insight into what was going on with him. He wanted to tell her that he didn't want to talk to Sara right now. He wanted to tell her that the fight wasn't entirely his fault. He wanted to tell her not to talk to Grissom. He wanted to tell her…anything. He found it hard to form any of these words, though, and ended up doing something he was so practiced in doing, it came almost effortlessly.

"Thanks," he said quietly. He avoided it.

* * *

He couldn't avoid it forever. Nick sank onto the curb and took the moment Catherine had suggested. He knew he was going to have to go back inside eventually, pretend he hadn't seen everyone bear witness to his outburst, and find Sara.

After a few reflective moments he came to the conclusion he hadn't meant to blow up at her like he had. He was tired, stressed, and still in a bad mood from the previous night. It hadn't been his intention to start a fight and especially not to say the things he'd ended up saying. He only hoped she could say the same.

Nick felt he'd done a pretty good job playing it off with Catherine, but Sara's words had hurt. More than he thought. If he wanted an answer to his earlier wondering, if he'd messed up the team dynamic…he guessed he had his answer. He and Sara had gotten into spats before, but never to that extent. He did want to apologize. He just wanted to hear her apologize more.

The sun started peeking over the tops of the trees and a sky that had been deep gray only moments before suddenly leaked shades of orange, pink, and blue like a watercolor painting. It was beautiful, drawing Nick from his thoughts, and it struck him how long it'd been since he'd taken the time to appreciate something like it. The simple things in life were slipping by him unnoticed every day. One would assume it would be the other way around, that he would be soaking in every detail of every day, since he'd come so close to losing it all, but that wasn't the way things were happening. It was like Nick had blinders on, moving through life with tunnel vision. He focused on one thing at a time, accomplished the task at hand, and once it had been put safely behind him, he moved on to the next.

_The task at hand_… Nick's thoughts refocused. He needed to talk to Sara. Really soon, too, before the things he said had time to sink in. He couldn't risk any permanent dents in their friendship brought on by his own thoughtless words. As for the damage caused by her words…well, he had plenty of dents already.

With one last lingering look at the rising sun Nick pulled himself up off of the curb and turned to the doors. He was reaching for the handle when the door burst open and Sara appeared in front of him. She stopped abruptly, eyes wide and mouth formed a surprised 'o.'

She recovered quickly, those eyes no longer hurt and lined with tears but dry as a bone and dark, angry once more. "I thought you'd left," she said bluntly.

Nick took a step back, not wanting Sara to think he was trying to push her. He attempted an easy smile but it felt more like a grimace. This wasn't easy. "Nah, I hung around for a bit."

It was obvious Sara wanted to stay mad at him, and in all honesty, part of Nick wanted to stay mad at her, too. The things she'd said had really gotten under his skin. _You mope around here like…_

The two stared at each other uncomfortably. After a moment, Sara sighed. She crossed her arms and raised her eyebrows, as if to say 'go ahead,' as if she were waiting for an apology. Which, sure, Nick had started the fight, allowing Sara to fall at the scene, and he'd done more than argue. He'd insulted. But she'd provoked it from him.

Sara pursed her lips and shook her head, a small, humorless laugh escaping.

Nick frowned. He must have been taking longer than she wanted. Again. "What?"

Sara sighed. "Nothing." She shifted her weight, glancing down at her muddy, ruined clothes, and jerked her head towards the parking lot. "I'm gonna get going."

"Yeah," Nick said, nodding slowly. "You wanna…"

"Shower, sleep," Sara said, and became instantly fascinated with her shoelaces.

They stood that way for another long moment, Sara staring down at the ground, Nick staring out at the parking lot.

"Well," Sara said. She adjusted the strap of the bag on her shoulder, and started in the direction of her car without another word.

"Yeah," Nick muttered, watching her go. 'Well."

After her car had pulled out of the lot, Nick threw his head back in frustration and kicked at the curb. He shoved his hands in his pockets and sighed. Catherine was not going to be happy. He was surprised to realize he didn't care as much as he thought he would.

* * *

It wouldn't be difficult for one to assume Gil Grissom actually lived in the crime lab. It was a bit unclear the workday hours he set for himself. He was in the lab before swing shift ended, and usually stayed over well into the day shift's hours. Some of the lab techs wondered loudly if he ever slept.

So no one was surprised to pass Grissom's office at four the next afternoon and see him sitting at his desk. No one was surprised, and Sara Sidle was counting on it.

She leaned on the doorframe and watched her boss for a moment. Grissom was absently chewing on the earpiece of his glasses, flipping through a case file, presumably from the case he and Catherine had worked the night before. He appeared deep in thought, his brow creased with a handsome frown, and Sara cocked her head as she watched him think.

Grissom's frown deepened, having sensed someone in the room, and he slowly raised his head to face the door. He had his mouth open to speak, but shut it when he saw Sara there. His frown lessened, but didn't disappear completely; there was a different look on his face, one that always seemed to be there when she was around. Uneasiness? Discomfort? Fascination? He had no need to worry; she wasn't there to talk about them.

Grissom leaned back slightly in his chair, glancing at his watch. "You're in early."

Sara's lips twisted in a playful smile. "You're one to talk."

His eyebrows rose in acknowledgment. He seemed slightly more at ease, but still fiddled uncomfortably with his glasses.

Sara took a breath, smiled wider, and stepped into the office, shutting the door behind her. "Do you maybe have a minute?"

* * *

As soon as Warrick Brown walked into the lab that night, he felt as though he'd missed something.

_Take one night off and it's a whole new lab_, he thought, passing Hodges' work station without the usual snide comment or sarcastic aside. The lab tech simply raised his eyebrows in an almost-greeting.

Warrick raised a hand in acknowledgment, a confused expression on his face.

Hodges laughed at Warrick's obvious uneasiness. "Don't look at me like that. I'm not going to say anything mean, although I would _love_ to tell you what I think of that shirt."

Warrick looked down at his wardrobe selection, frowning. "I paid good money for this, man."

The other man suppressed a grin. "Wouldn't doubt it. There's a sucker born every minute."

"I thought you weren't going to say anything mean."

Hodges shrugged. "I tried." He sat down in his chair. "Everyone just feels like they should be a little nicer to each other today."

"Why?"

Hodges' eyes widened in disbelief. "You didn't hear? Man, and I thought you and Nick were tight." He smiled venomously.

"We are," Warrick said, glaring down at the lab tech. His expression was steely but in reality, he was growing worried; Nick hadn't said a word to him about anything big going down. Or anything at all, now that he thought about it. "Now, what didn't I hear?"

Hodges leaned forward, looking right and left to see if anyone was within earshot. Satisfied, he looked back to Warrick. "Sara and Nick are working a DB at the university. When they got back from the scene last night, they got into it here at the lab," he said in a conspiratorial tone.

Warrick clicked his tongue and waved his hand dismissively at the gossip. "Oh, those two are always buttin' heads." Besides, if it had been serious, Nick would have called him about it.

Hodges shook his head. "Not like this."

Something about the man's somber tone made Warrick pause. "You're serious?"

Hodges nodded.

Warrick leaned against the table, growing concerned. "But they're cool now, right?" Another shake of the head, and Warrick frowned. "Thanks. I'll talk to you later, Hodges." _But only if I have to._

Warrick continued down the hall. He wanted to find Nick, or Sara, and find out just what had gone on, and why he hadn't heard anything about it until now.

When he made his way into the break room, Warrick was relieved to at least see his two friends in the same room together, and talking, at that. He figured at first Hodges must have been overreacting; then he heard what was being said.

"I didn't tell him to do this."

"It's fine."

"Nick – "

"It's fine."

Both voices were cold and laced with anger, an air of finality in Nick's, and Warrick was stunned by its iciness. It was very uncharacteristic of his friend. Sara appeared stunned, as well, looking at the ground and fidgeting uncomfortably. Warrick felt now was as good a time as any to make his presence known.

"Hey, guys," he said, smiling and walking into the room. He aimed to lighten the obvious tension, but his entrance into the room seemed to only increase the awkwardness of the situation.

"Hey, Warrick," Sara said with forced enthusiasm. There was a beat. "I'll talk to you later." It was clear this was directed solely at him, and not Nick. She hurried out of the room.

Nick watched her leave and shook his head. He slumped down in his chair, absentmindedly playing with a piece of paper. It sounded like he was mumbling under his breath, but Warrick couldn't pick up any of it.

After Sara was out of hearing range, Warrick let out a low whistle. "Is it chilly in here, or is it just me?"

Nick shot him an annoyed look. "Let it go, 'Rick."

"You wanna talk about it?"

"Nope."

"You gonna fix it?"

Nick didn't look up, let alone answer.

Warrick shook his head in disbelief. _I'll take that as a no._ "You don't wanna talk?"

Nick shook his head.

"Okay." Something he'd learned over the past few months: when Nick didn't want to talk, Nick didn't talk. No point in trying to force it. Warrick crossed the room and sat in the seat opposite his friend.

Nick handed him the paper he'd been toying with, an assignment slip. "It's you and me tonight."

Warrick frowned. "I thought you were working with – "

"I was."

"Then what – "

Nick rose abruptly. "Not now, 'Rick. Let's go."

Warrick sighed, frustrated. Not only hadn't Nick talked to him about the fight, now it seemed he was avoiding talking to him at all. "Nick," he started.

"We've got a scene," was the monotonous response.

Warrick felt something building inside of him, something that had been growing slowly for months now. It was something hot and fiery and angry. _He _was angry. Angry with Nick for being unbelievably stubborn and thinking of himself as so self-sufficient that he didn't talk to Warrick anymore. Angry with Grissom for not acting like the man he was; for no longer being the man Nick felt he could turn to. It was obvious Nick didn't think of Grissom in the same way anymore.

But more than anything Warrick was angry with himself for not taking the initiative months ago, when it could have really made a difference. He was forced to wonder now if it was too late, if Nick had retreated far enough into himself that his friends would no longer be able to get through.

He wasn't going to let that happen. He wasn't going to let Nick let this go. "Nick, man, just tell me what – "

"He took me off the case, okay?" Nick said angrily. "And I don't want to talk about it."

The hostile tone was as a good a slap, and Warrick felt the sting. "Okay," he said softly.

Nick marched heavily out of the room, leaving Warrick to follow him. It was in that moment it became painfully apparent to Warrick that their friendship wasn't the same it used to be.

* * *

To be continued...


	5. Ordnance Tactics

_Chapter Five: Ordnance Tactics_

"Thank you, Ms. Sidle. You've been so nice."

Sara's head snapped up at the sounds of her name. She smiled warmly and shook the hand extended her way.

She never knew what to say at this point. Here she was, telling some kind, middle-aged woman her son had been found beaten to death for no apparent reason, his body left unceremoniously in the rain on his college campus…and this woman was thanking her. She always smiled, never able to form words. Never sure she knew the right ones.

As she and Brass jogged off of the front stoop and down the steps, the detective touched her elbow. "You okay, kiddo?"

"What? Yeah." Sara ran a hand through her hair and wrapped her arms tightly around herself as they walked through the front yard to Brass's car.

It was no warmer that morning than the previous one and she had only a light jacket. The sun was working its way into the sky but not enough to counteract the chill in the air. At least it wasn't raining.

Brass opened the passenger door of the sedan for her before stepping around to the other side of the car. He cocked his head, gazing at her with sympathetic eyes. "You looked like you were somewhere else in there. Thinking about the case?"

Sara scratched at her forehead and raised her eyebrows. No, she hadn't been thinking about the case. She hadn't been thinking about the case when she'd been working it. With her focus and attention so scattered, it was a good thing they'd gotten a lucky break. The kid's roommate had come forward and told the police his friend was rushing a fraternity and had been called away that night; he hadn't heard from him since.

Hazing. Sara would never understand frat guys. They were going to get seriously busted for this one. She'd worked in the lab all night, comparing marks and bruises on the kid's body to items in the frat house collected with the warrant Brass has gotten for her; as expected, no one was stepping forward and confessing to the assault. She'd hoped to put enough together to have some explanation or reason to give the mother, but that was the problem with her line of work: there was evidence to explain _how_, but never enough to explain _why_ things like this happened.

But that hadn't been where her mind was. She hadn't even really been thinking about the tear and grief-stricken face of the mother, which was probably what Brass assumed. Under other circumstances, that's exactly what she would have been thinking about.

"Sara?"

She turned to Brass and shook her head. "No, just…thinking."

More specifically, thinking about what had happened before the start of the night's shift. Because of that, she'd had the feeling of being avoided all night long. Nick on behalf of his own bruised ego and Warrick on behalf of his friend. They were all busy, true; but it was more than that. She was sure the story had been exaggerated by the time it had reached their coworkers.

Brass reached out and patted her hand in that fatherly way he had around them. "Do you need to talk about anything?"

Sara bit her lip and leaned her head back against the headrest of her seat.

"_Do you maybe have a minute?"_

_Grissom sat back as Sara entered his office and shut the door. She hadn't even had to think where she was going to find him. He never seemed to leave his office anymore, save for going home or driving out to scenes. Sara could have sworn she'd even seen a few techs bringing evidence and results to him now._

_She sank into the chair across from him with a soft thud. She was still smiling, but it was no longer easygoing, it was forced and tight. She was trying to keep up a front, but Grissom could see through it. He always could._

"_What's going on?" he asked._

_Her smile widened, and when her cheeks met her eyes, she could feel tears welling. Unwanted tears of regret, confusion, and lingering frustration._

"_Sara…"_

"_I, uh, I think I might have done something kind of stupid," she said, blinking and forcing back the tears._

_Grissom slid his glasses on. Sara thought it was strange, like he was studying her. "What are you talking about?"_

_Sara frowned. "You didn't hear about this morning?" She was sure the news of the fight had made its way through every nook and cranny of the crime lab by now. Gossip spread like wildfire, especially with David Hodges in the building._

_Grissom's expression told him that he had in fact heard, and she braced herself. "I heard that you and Nick had an argument." His voice was tentative, clearly not wanting to provoke a temperamental outburst._

"_Yeah." Sara laughed uneasily, gazing down at her hands. "It was a little more than an argument."_

"_Sara?"_

"_We both…said some things." _You really have turned into a piece of work lately…you're confrontational, unreasonable, irrational…you mope around here like_…like what? What would she have said if Nick hadn't interrupted? _Like what, Sara? Like I almost died?_ He'd been so angry._

You mope around here like you've got nothing to live for. You mope around here like no one cares about you. You mope around here like you don't even care about you._ Nothing would have helped the situation._

_Grissom smiled. Being on the receiving end of a smile from Grissom should come with a decoder. Sara wasn't sure what it was he was attempting to convey with that tiny manipulation of his mouth – it was tight and uneasy, which meant it was probably supposed to be reassuring and comforting. "You guys had a bad night. Everyone says thing they don't mean when – "_

"_I meant them, Grissom," Sara admitted, meeting his eyes. She didn't want him to rationalize this. She lightly set her hand on his desk. "Bad night or not. And he meant them, too."_

_Grissom reached across the desk and put his hand over hers. It felt odd there, but it was the kind of comforting offer Sara had wanted a dozen times over. She just wished it was under different circumstances. "You guys will be fine, Sara." He probably didn't know what else to say. She continued to go to Grissom for advice, even though she usually left his office more confused than when she went in._

_Still, she found herself saying more. "I should have apologized," she said softly, realizing the truth as she said it. Instead of waiting for him to do it first because she wanted to deserve it. _

_Earlier that morning, she'd been frustrated with more than one thing, and when she had come face-to-face with Nick again outside, she felt defiant and stubborn, not ready or willing to make up._

"_You will. And he will, too." Grissom was probably right; they would eventually apologize. The odds just weren't good that it would happen that night._

"_I don't think he's going to want to talk to me," Sara said, glancing away. She pulled her hand out from under Grissom's. _

_Truth was, she didn't know what would happen if they tried to talk. She'd meant the things she'd said, and she knew they were going to hurt when she said them. She was afraid there were even more words waiting inside, more she would let out if the right buttons were pushed. There were so many things she'd wanted to say for months; everything had come out ten times harsher than she'd intended. Now that the gate that was her mouth had been opened, she didn't know what else to expect to come pouring out._

_Grissom stared down at his abandoned hand, a strange look on his face. "Are you guys still working that DB?"_

_Sara nodded. They'd dropped off the body with Doc Robbins that morning, but hadn't gotten much else done. "Yeah. Not well," she added under her breath._

_Not quietly enough. A look came over Grissom's face, that 'I'm not sure what you want me to do or say' look. It was one she knew well. _

"_Wh…" he started, then paused to consider his words. "Why don't you just take over the case?"_

_Sara opened her mouth to answer, but wasn't so sure she was going to tell him 'no.' Maybe more work would get if she wrapped up the case alone. Things were sure to be tense if she and Nick continued to work together. If they weren't around each other, then they couldn't fight._

_Grissom raised a hand, figuring she was preparing to protest. "I needed you both to try to collect evidence at the scene last night, but there's really no reason to keep both of you on the case now. You're each capable of continuing alone. You're already here, so why don't you just work on it. I can give Nick a new case when he gets here."_

_Sara sat for a moment. She slowly nodded. Maybe a night on a different case would give her time to get herself settled, and let the fight settle itself. "Okay. Okay. Thanks."_

_Grissom smiled and patted her hand, which again had materialized on his desktop._

_Nick, in the sour and testy mood he apparently hadn't shaken during the day, misinterpreted the situation. Sara had an unfortunately well-known history of having a unique relationship with Grissom; things always seemed to go in her favor. _

_Nick walked heavily into the lab, long-sleeved tee uncharacteristically untucked, hair unkempt as though he hadn't mustered up the energy to even run his fingers through it. He raised his eyebrows at Sara in greeting. At least he was acknowledging her. Sara felt that was a step in the right direction, until he walked right past her._

_Sara frowned and followed him down the hall. "Nick, wait up," she said, clutching a manila file folder._

_He cast a quick look over his shoulder at her hurrying to catch up and paused. "Yeah?"_

_Sara stopped a few feet away from him, keeping a bit of distance between them. "I, uh, got a name on last night's body," she said uneasily. She wasn't sure how to tell him she'd taken over the case._

_Nick frowned and checked his watch. "Shift hasn't even started yet. You talked to Doc Robbins?"_

_Sara waved a dismissive hand. "Oh, I came in early."_

_Nick eyes her suspiciously and the folder she was holding. "How early?"_

_Sara aimed to smile but had to avert her eyes as Nick stared her down. "I, uh, talked to Grissom, and he said – "_

"_What did you do?"_

_Sara's eyes narrowed. He didn't sound angry, just confused, but she could feel herself already getting defensive with him. "I didn't do anything. Grissom suggested that I could finish up on this case and you can – "_

_Nick barked out an incredulous laugh. "I'm off the case?" He crossed his arms. "Any particular reason?"_

Will you just let me finish a sentence?_ Sara shook her head and reached out to touch his arm and he jerked stiffly away. "Nick, it's not like that."_

"_What's it like, Sara? Did you tell Grissom that you don't want to work with me?"_

"_Hey," Sara said. "Can we not do this here?" She gestured to the few curious heads already poking out of various doors. She was embarrassed enough about the number of spectators to their previous fight. _

_Nick pursed his lips and nodded. He jerked his head in the direction of the break room and Sara followed, arms crossed as well._

_When he reached the room he whirled on her, not even bothering to shut the door. "I'm sure there's a good reason for this, right?"_

"_Nick – "_

"_Nah," he said, expression morphing as anger became a regrettably familiar look of defeat. He shook his head. "Forget it. It doesn't matter now." He sat in a chair at the table and studied his hands._

_Sara rolled her eyes. She didn't want to leave things like that. "I didn't have anything to do with this," she said loudly, as though the low volume of her voice was the reason he didn't believe her._

"_It's fine," he stated in a cold, flat voice._

"_Nick – "_

"_It's fine," he interrupted again, tone signaling the end of the conversation._

"_Hey, guys."_

_Both CSIs turned to Warrick as he entered the room, eyes wide with an uneasy smile on his face. _

_Sara mustered up a smile, herself. "Hey, Warrick." Well, the conversation was certainly over now. She couldn't continue in front of Warrick. "I'll talk to you later." She risked one last quick glance at Nick, who was shaking his head, and she hurried out of the room._

_Sara was walking quickly down the hall when she faintly heard a low whistle from the room._

"_Is it chilly in here, or is it just me?" she heard Warrick ask._

_Sara shook her head and picked up her pace, not wanting to here Nick's response. _No, Warrick_, she thought, _it'snot just you_._

Sara couldn't relay any of these happenings to Brass and continue to hope the whole thing would just blow over, so she settled for a shake of her head. "Don't worry. Everything's fine." She didn't know that it was, after the night spent at the lab, but flashed Brass a confident smile anyway.

Brass's brow was furrowed as he stuck his key in the ignition, but he accepted what Sara told him. "Okay."

Upon her return, the air in the lab was heavy and even tenser then when she'd left. Sara winced; apparently things hadn't gone as well as she'd hoped. Warrick and Nick had finished up already, and Greg was also back in the building. After two nights, he'd closed his first solo, and he flashed Sara a big grin as he passed her on the way to the locker room. He was the only one grinning.

She congratulated him, but her attention was focused on the figure she saw over his shoulder. "Bad night?" she asked Warrick, whose back was propped heavily against the wall outside the DNA lab.

He gave a short laugh, shaking his head. "Something like that." He ran a hand over his face. "I don't know what's going on with him."

Sara looked around. "Is he here?"

"Nah, he took off a little while ago. Didn't want to hang around I guess."

There was no accusation in his tone, but Sara still felt guilty.

Warrick sighed and straightened. "Ah, well. Next shift'll be better, right?"

Sara nodded. She didn't want to actually say anything and give him false hope. In her gut, she could feel things weren't going to resolve themselves so quickly.

She was right.

* * *

"Hey, Greg."

The young CSI turned at the sound of his name. Grissom was standing at the threshold of the locker room wearing his patented 'I know I look pissed but I'm really trying to seem concerned' face. Greg just hoped that face wasn't meant for him.

He bit his lip and recapped his actions during his solo case at lightning speed. He'd worn gloves at all times while collecting evidence, used the bathroom across the street when his nervousness combined with the two cups of coffee back at the lab had given him a need to pee so fierce he was sure he'd embarrassed himself. He'd labeled every evidence bag clearly, had actually probably written more on the seal than was necessary, just to be sure. There wasn't another 'G.S.' in the lab, so he hadn't needed to write out his full name. All in all, the last two nights had gone relatively smoothly. His fellow CSIs might have been able to wrap up the case in a single night but he was still learning, so he cut himself a little slack for taking two shifts to identify and track down the overzealous boyfriend who'd gotten carried away.

"Yeah?" Greg responded, pulling his jacket out of his locker and slipping it on. He was still nervous but fairly confident he hadn't done anything horribly wrong. Grissom always made him nervous, more so since he'd started working exclusively in the field.

"Have you seen Nick around?"

Greg adjusted his jacket lapels and shut his locker door. "Yeah, he headed out about an hour ago. He and Warrick wrapped up pretty early," he said with a faint twinge of jealously. "Why?"

Grissom sighed, apparently unhappy with this answer. He shook his head with obvious disappointment. "I asked him to stop by my office before he left."

Greg shifted uncomfortably. "Maybe he forgot." In reality, he knew Nick hadn't forgotten. There'd been a nearly unrecognizable look on his friend's face as he'd stalked out of the building.

"Yeah. Maybe." Grissom turned to leave, pausing for the slightest second. "Nice work on your case." His voice was quiet but Greg would have heard those words from a mile away.

He grinned in spite of himself; he _had_ done a good job. Maybe not a quick job, but a good job. He turned to thank his supervisor, to maybe get a more detailed critique of his work on the case…only to find Grissom had already left.

Greg chewed his lip. Well, he'd gotten something. He guessed the 'nice work' was praise enough.

* * *

The next night certainly didn't feel any better. For the first time in a long time, possibly ever, not a single sound was to be heard coming from the break room of the crime lab as the graveyard shift prepped for the night ahead. The screen of the television was black, the controller and games of the Playstation put away, untouched for days. Four figures sat in silence, hands clasped in their laps or in front of them, occasionally loosening long enough to pick up a coffee cup. And not a brew from the lab-supplied grounds; this was the good stuff. Catherine could smell it from the hall. For some reason, Greg was feeling gracious.

Upon entering the room it took all of two seconds for Catherine to understand why Grissom had asked her to handle the night's assignments. He didn't want to be the one to decide the next two contestants on CSI Feud.

Catherine stood at the head of the table and surveyed her team. All but Grissom were present, having graciously opted out of this painful process. It was just as well; she was going to be working with him herself on an assault at the Tangiers. Sara and Warrick were seated on one side of the table, Nick and Greg on the other.

Sara and Nick were still avoiding eye contact with each other. Evidently the whole 'talking things over' thing hadn't happened yet, or if it had, it hadn't gone over well. Catherine wasn't too worried about it. She knew the two would never let their friendship become seriously jeopardized over something so stupid. Still, she didn't think they were ready to be working together alone just yet.

Sara wasn't the only one Nick wasn't meeting eyes with. No matter how intensely Warrick was staring at him, Nick was stubbornly refusing to look across the table, choosing instead to stare at the coffee cup in front of him. Catherine wasn't sure what was going on with the two them now, but when Nick finally raised his head and faced her, she could almost feel the confusion and uneasiness radiating from his eyes.

Two cases, four CSIs. A first grader could have told her how to hand them out.

"Okay, guys," Catherine said, looking down at the two slips of paper in her hands. "We're going old school tonight." She waved her arm out at them. "Buddy up."

No one moved. Nick resumed staring at the cup. Sara inspected a fingernail. Warrick studied his hands. Greg looked around at the other three like they were alien invaders.

Catherine smiled tightly, studying their self-assigned seating chart. It was probably going to be the safest bet to get through the evening smoothly. "Okay…Warrick and Sara, take a 419 at Woodbridge Park. Nick, Greg, another DB at the park behind Walnut Grove Middle School."

"Both scenes are parks," Sara offered, looking up from her nails. "Do you think the crimes are related?"

Catherine raised her eyebrows and handed one slip to Warrick, the other to Greg. "You tell me."

* * *

"You know, I could really go for a five-car pileup right about now. A gang shoot-out, something."

Gil looked up at Catherine with a genuinely horrorstruck expression.

She straightened from where she'd leaned against the doorframe. "Not like that," she amended quickly. "Just…" Catherine sighed, crossing the room, and leaned a hip against his desk. She shook her head ruefully. "Just something to get everyone together again."

Gil nodded absently, but his attention had already been redirected to his computer.

Catherine sighed, frustrated. "Well, you're certainly not helping matters any, sitting here in the dark all the time."

"I'm not sitting in the dark."

"You sure?"

Gil rolled his eyes. "I should have seen that coming."

Catherine shrugged and smiled, but it was short-lived. She really needed some help from him here. "Well, you need to be out there with me." She was nearly pleading with him. "You can't keep shutting yourself in your office and pretending things aren't falling apart out there," she said, gesturing to the door.

"I think you're overreacting."

Catherine's eyes narrowed and she crossed her arms, jerking her head. "Go out there. Go out there, and look at Nick and Sara. At Nick and Warrick." _At Nick and yourself,_ she added in her head. "And tell me I'm overreacting."

Gil sat forward in his chair, resting his arms on his desktop. He stared at her patiently. "They had a fight, Catherine. They'll be fine. Time heals all wounds."

"No," Catherine said, waving a hand at him. "No, it doesn't. Sometimes, time rips wounds open and shreds them into tiny pieces and then you sit in here and expect me to pick it all up and put it back together." She said it in a rush, in a single breath. She waited for his response, hoping he would give her something to work with, some support or encouraging word that he wasn't going to let their team, their family, fall apart.

"Catherine…"

That was all he had to say. He trailed off, his mouth still open, and chose uncomfortable silence. She had taken it too far for Gil Grissom to offer her anything intelligible.

Catherine tapped her fingertips on his desk, not meeting his eyes. "Let's get going. Scene's not going to process itself."

She turned to leave, hearing another quiet sigh from the man as he rose to follow her out to the crime scene; the only reason Gil Grissom seemed to be able to drag himself out of his office anymore.

* * *

To be continued...


	6. The Road Ahead

_Chapter Six: The Road Ahead_

The Tahoe's taillights cut through the night, eerily illuminating every bush, branch, and building lining the dark street. Warrick and Sara's scene was a little ways out of town but not quite as far as the others'. Walnut Grove Middle School was one of the more elite grade schools in the Las Vegas region, and was nestled close to a wooded area.

It was quiet inside the SUV, and Sara didn't want it be quiet, because then all she had to occupy herself with were her own scattered thoughts. Without asking permission from the driver she pushed the power button on the radio in the dash and a smooth jazz ballad filtered silkily out of the speakers. Sara turned to Warrick with a smile, her fingers poised over the tuner.

"It calms me down," he said, already tapping out a rhythm on the steering wheel.

"It's elevator music," Sara responded with a small laugh. "It is calming, though," she admitted, drawing her hand back into her lap. She leaned her hand back against the headrest and stared out of her window, letting the soothing ballad work its magic on her frayed nerves.

It wasn't long, though, before the passing blurry shapes started to make her head hurt. Then Sara turned her head to stare out of the windshield, something weighing heavy on her mind. "What happened last night?" she asked tentatively. "With you and Nick?"

Warrick had seemed so edgy after the last shift she hadn't wanted to push the issue. After being part of the Fantastically Silent Four earlier on in the night she decided the issue needed to be pushed and eventually resolved. Seeing Nick give Warrick the silent treatment had brought things into sharp focus for Sara; it wasn't just her. It was a very real possibility the issue was with any of them – it was with Nick.

Warrick visibly stiffened. He brought a hand up to his face and rubbed it over his chin. "Nothing," he said after a moment.

Sara looked down at her hands and picked at her fingernails. "If you don't want to talk about it…"

"No," Warrick said. "I mean nothing happened. We didn't talk. At all." He sighed. "I thought at first it was just because he was upset over the way your guys' case worked out, you know. How Grissom had you take over – "

"You know I didn't ask him to do that, right?" There was a beat, and Sara was worried that he didn't believe her. It wouldn't be unprecedented for Warrick to side with his best friend over her. They hadn't always gotten along.

"Yeah," Warrick said finally.

It was half-hearted and he didn't expand on it, and Sara bit her lip. He obviously thought even though she hadn't done it this time, it was certainly something she was capable of.

"It wasn't that, though," he continued, shaking his head. "It's my fault," he said softly.

"What are you talking about?" Sara frowned. "How is Nick's bad attitude your fault?"

Warrick screwed up his face and lightly hit the steering when with his fist. "I haven't had the time…I haven't been there for him."

Sara was confused, but then it dawned on her. "Tina," she said.

Warrick nodded, his eyes fixed on the road ahead.

Sara shifted in her seat. This wasn't exactly an area in which she was an expert. "Things are different now," she said. "Nick understands that."

"Nah, Sara, I should have been making the time. Thought I was doing the right thing by giving him space." Warrick shook his head again. "Stupid."

Sara set a hand on his arm, which was remarkably tense. "It's not because of you, Warrick. Nick's got his issues, yeah, but you're not to blame for that."

Warrick looked over and gave her a small smile. "Thanks for saying, but I don't know. I just feel like this whole thing could have been avoided."

"Yeah," Sara said, nodding. "If last May had never happened. But that's not the way things work. You have to take what you're given, and do the best you can. When life hands you lemons – "

"Please, Sara," Warrick interrupted, laughing. "Pep talks are one thing, but don't be pulling these clichés out on me."

Sara laughed, too. "Sorry, I got a little into it."

Laughing felt good, and the CSIs took a moment to savor the rarity and soak up the musical tones still floating in the air before they reached the park and things became somber again.

* * *

"Can I ask?"

"Can you ask what?"

Pause.

"What's going on?"

Another pause. A long, long pause.

The radio was off. Greg absently tapped his palms on his legs in time with a beat audible only to himself. "Things just seemed…really, really…weird back in there."

Nick sighed, and didn't take his eyes off of the road outside the windshield. There was no arguing with Greg; the last few days had been really weird, due mostly to his own pitiful attitude. What had started as frustrated disappointment with his boss had evolved into a full-blown temper tantrum manifesting at inappropriate, not to mention regrettable times, and he was pushing his friends away.

His thoughts started to drift, his focus on his driving slipping away and going to wherever it was his mind wandered off to.

Sara. _What _was going on there? They'd always been so close; joking, laughing, even flirting back in the beginning, but now she meant more to him than the pretty new girl in the lab. She was like a sister, always there for him in her special Sara way, making him feel better. She had a spirit and an intuition he'd never encountered before, and she _knew_ what was going on. For some reason, there was one thing she didn't know; she didn't know what being the one to run that case would have meant. And she was the second one to do that to him in the last week. His real issue was with Grissom, but good luck talking to that man. So his frustration came out at the next closest person.

Childish; that was the perfect word for the way the two of them had been acting, but it was at the core that brother-sister relationship they had. Sara was the favored smarty pants, basking in all of that coveted approval and attention. Nick was the scabby-kneed, accident-prone little brother, always getting into one scrape or another, always on the receiving end of the much less coveted disappointment of mom and dad. That shake of the head. Stay on the sidewalk. No more than two houses down so we can call you home. Stay away from bugs; you know what they do to you.

Little brother was sick of it. Big sis had fallen down in the mud and the rain and it had made his day. But the fight wasn't really a fight, wasn't really that big, but it had become something big in those few moments outside the lab. An apology, that's all it would have taken.

Catherine, his 'Mom away from Mom.' She'd meant well, he knew that. She'd just been upset and, surprise surprise, concerned. He knew he wasn't helping matters any, with all of the distance he was putting between himself and everyone else. Catherine wasn't just his surrogate mom, she was everyone's. And between him, Sara, Greg, and Warrick…that was a lot of secondhand stress coming her way. The things she'd said had been hard to hear, but Nick understood. He'd blown up at people he cared about several times, instead of saying the comforting things he meant to say. He'd opened up to her once with something he'd never told anyone, ever, surprised how easy the words had come. After that, he'd been able to tell Catherine anything. Not anymore. He didn't feel like he could tell anyone anything anymore. He just kept things to himself. And then he got defensive when they wanted to know why.

Warrick. His best friend, the best one Nick had really had since high school. Frat brothers didn't really count, and he hadn't kept in touch with any of them. But he was seeing less and less of Warrick these days. He liked Tina, he really did; but the number of times he was having to remind himself of this had him doubting the sincerity of it. Another little bit of regression on his part; his buddy's girl was taking up a lot of his free time and they didn't get to hang and be guys anymore. His X Box was starting to gather dust.

_Say something. If it's bothering you, say something._ Something else Nick had told himself over and over. For some reason, the link between his brain and his mouth had been severely comprised at some point, and he instead ended up saying either the wrong things or nothing at all.

The last few months had been unspeakably tense, and a wedge was slowly being driven between each of them. Who was hammering away at that wedge; that was the question. There was no doubt in Nick's mind that things were very easily rectifiable, and by him. A couple of apologies and a round of cold ones, and the laughter would resume, the sun shining upon their ranks once more.

"Um…Nick? Nick. _Nick!_"

Nick's eyes widened and his vision came sharply into focus. So sharply, it actually momentarily blacked out, and when things righted themselves, Nick gasped.

He'd given himself that talk only a couple of nights earlier about spacing out while he was driving, and how one day he was going to end up wrapped around a telephone pole. Nick yanked the steering wheel hard to the left in an attempt to avoid the line of trees the vehicle had been slowly drifting towards.

The tires on the right side of the SUV dipped down, sucked into the remaining mud in the ditch as they slipped in it. Greg leaned towards the center of the vehicle as the branches of the large trees closest to the road scratched along the passenger side.

Nick poured on the gas and pulled the wheel as far to the left as he could manage. Sweat gathered at his hairline and slid down his face. He gritted his teeth against the resistance put up by the mud.

The SUV righted itself back onto the road, and Nick braked when all four tires were kissing solid asphalt. He gripped the steering wheel with white knuckles, refusing to look over at Greg, whose wide eyes he could feel staring at him.

"Sorry, Greg," he said quietly.

Greg shook his head, breathing a little heavily, his left hand gripping the center console. "We're fine, don't worry about it." He looked around at the dark, deserted road. "No one even saw."

Nick slowly nodded, getting his increased breathing and heart rate under control. "Greg – "

"Seriously, don't worry about it."

Nick felt a hand on his arm, and he looked over at Greg, those wide eyes now brimming with concern. Not that pity-filled concern everyone else looked at him with; this was fearful, and for good reason.

Greg shook his arm slightly. "Just…get some help. Okay?"

Nick nodded. "Yeah." He stared down at his hands, still gripping the steering wheel with a death-hold. A thought crossed his mind, and his eyes whipped back over to his friend.

Greg understood immediately, shaking his head with a small, albeit shaky, smile. "I won't tell them."

"Thanks." Nick's voice sounded hoarse to his own ears. Greg was right; he needed help.

"Now," Greg said, sitting back in his seat. "Let's get to that scene." He unbuckled and rebuckled his seatbelt, wincing slightly.

Nick felt sore as well, from jerking forward against the belt when it locked up from the forceful braking. He nodded again. "Okay." He took the truck out of park and started down the road again.

For the remainder of the drive, Nick held the steering wheel in both hands, and he could tell Greg was shooting cautious glances his way the entire time.

* * *

To be continued...


	7. All Eyes on Me

_Chapter Seven: All Eyes on Me_

Catherine was staring at him. Every time she lowered her camera after marking and snapping another photo of another blood spot on the carpet, every time he knelt to swab the spot of blood, he could feel Catherine was staring at him. And it was really rather annoying.

The soundtrack for the moment was a muffled mixture of the gruff voice of Jim Brass and the higher-pitch near-shrieking sound that was presumably the voice of the assault victim. Though he wasn't one usually quick to make assumptions, Gil was inclined to use the term "victim" loosely in this instance.

The woman, Adela Davis, was currently screaming some story at Brass about her husband attacking her, but when Gil passed her in the hall he hadn't seen anything more than a barely bleeding nose. There was much more blood on the carpet in the bedroom than a few drips from a bloody nose. He was going to have to ask about the condition of the husband upon the arrival of PD. As it was, Stan Davis had already been carted off to the station, making quite a ruckus, Brass had told him. Stan had been saying the "crazy bitch" was the one that came at _him._

Gil opened another sterile swab and ran it over another spot on the carpet. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the bright flash of Catherine's camera, and not even one second later could feel those piercing eyes on him again.

'What is it?" he finally asked, closing the lid on the swab, sliding it into a box and writing the number corresponding to the marker on the side.

Snap. "This whole thing could have been very easily avoided."

Another accusation. Gil had apparently screwed something up again. Or screwed something up more. Couldn't the woman focus and think about anything else? Swab. Sigh. "What are you talking about?"

But he knew. Oh, Lord, did he know. Catherine had been making him well aware of his faults and mistakes at regular intervals over the past few days. And what "whole thing?" An argument between Nick and Sara was hardly something to ruffle feathers over. He'd already spoken with Sara, and it sounded to him that she was more than willing to reconcile. He found it hard to believe Nick wouldn't want the same thing.

Snap, followed by a disappointed shake of the head. "It was that B and E, Gil."

Swab. "That was a simple misunderstanding between us, Catherine." His defenses were rising to match her tone. That tone. The one she reserved just for him, just for telling him he was mishandling his team.

Snap. "The only one who's misunderstanding anything is you."

Swab, with a little more force than the previous swabs. Gil couldn't formulate a response quickly enough. After a moment had passed, he realized it was a long enough pause to give validity to her words, and his mind was simply trying to work through them and all their implications.

Snap. A most smug, satisfied snap if he'd ever heard one.

* * *

David Phillips had been on his way out as Warrick and Sara had just been arriving at Woodbridge Park. It was a relatively small park, frequented mostly by children from the neighboring houses, and not really anyone else. The young coroner raised his eyebrows at the approaching CSIs.

"You guys are late," he said in a light tone, hefting the black body bag-laden gurney into the back of the coroner's van.

Sara shot an accusing look at Warrick. "Took a wrong turn," she said with a crooked grin.

Warrick clicked his tongue. "I'm not driving you around anymore."

They'd shared some kind of bonding moment in the truck on the drive; one of their only moments of that kind, ever. Warrick pretended it wasn't over another's misfortune. He was just happy there were some friendships still strongly intact amongst their ranks.

David chuckled, shutting the back doors of the van. "The body was found on the basketball court. Male, no I.D., either late teens or early twenties. I saw some bruising around the neck. He might have been strangled."

Warrick nodded, taking in the information. "We're probably not looking for a weapon, then."

David shrugged. "Well, I have to head over to the other scene. Both bodies will be back in the morgue in a few."

Sara smiled. "Thanks, David. We'll see you there."

Warrick watched with amusement as David returned the smile, a blush rising in his cheeks, visible even in the dark of the night. _Boy's still got it bad for Sara, _he thought, shaking his head. Warrick wasn't the only one who noticed, and Sara shot Warrick a warning glance.

After the large van had pulled away, Sara bent to retrieve her flashlight from her kit. "Not a word."

Warrick raised his hands defensively. "You should go for it, Sara. I'm telling you."

She brought her flashlight up and clicked it on, letting the beam catch him in the eyes. "That sounds like a word to me," she said with raised eyebrows.

Warrick flinched out of the light. "All right, all right." He kept his hands raised in mock surrender.

Satisfied, Sara pulled a pair of latex gloves out of her vest pocket. "Where do you want to start?"

Warrick gazed out at the basketball court, alternately illuminated in blue and red from the ever-present police cruisers. "How about the scene of the crime?"

Sara shook her head and started over to the court. "Who's pulling out clichés now?"

* * *

Greg hovered over David's shoulder as he knelt next to the body, listening with divided attention as the assistant coroner described the wounds as he came across them. The victim was a teenage boy, and it was pretty obvious his throat had been cut. Greg was catching almost everything David was saying, a few words slipping past his ears as his eyes squinted and followed the figure moving slowly along the edge of the park.

"…no sign of defensive wounds," David said, letting the arm he was holding drop back lightly to the ground. Greg nodded, taking a step back to keep Nick in his field of vision.

Nick hadn't really spoken since they arrived at the scene. The two CSIs had to wait a few minutes for the coroner to meet them there as soon as he had, Nick had mumbled something about checking the perimeter for trace, possibly a dropped weapon, Greg wasn't really sure, because of the mumbling. Whatever it was he was doing, he was sure being quiet about it.

There was no denying it; in the car, Greg had been downright scared. He still was. He was scared for his friend, and what he was going through. Even more so because Nick hadn't been talking to them about any of it. Up until now, things had seemed fine. Great, even. Greg had no idea such things had been going on in Nick's life, in his head.

He should have. God, he was so incredibly _stupid._ After the explosion in the lab, he'd gone through his fair share of aftershocks. He could have spoken to Nick as the one person who somewhat understood what he was going through. He could have explained to the others that although they weren't seeing the effects in their friend, they were surely there. Of course, that would mean thinking back to that day. About the heat, the pain, the uselessness he'd felt, lying in that hospital bed. He wasn't just stupid, he was selfish. He could have taken just one minute and set his own feelings aside and talked with his friend.

"…and the position of the body suggests he was attacked from behind, maybe." David paused to take a breath, and for Greg to respond, and it took a moment for the silence to register in Greg's brain.

He tore his eyes away from Nick, wandering still farther away, and redirected his attention back to David. "So, not someone he knew."

David smiled. "I just examine the body, Greg."

"Yeah, I know. Just thinking out loud." He didn't have the space available in his head to house even one more thought.

Greg was in a bit of a pickle and very well aware of it. Why, _why_ had he told Nick he wasn't going to tell anyone what had happened? That was enabling him, helping him repress the things he was dealing with, or not dealing with, as it seemed. In his gut, he felt he'd violated some kind of unspoken oath to the group by promising such a thing.

They tried not to talk about it in any kind of obvious way; there had certainly never been a "What's Going on With Nick" meeting or anything, but there was always a momentary pause when they passed each other in the halls of the lab, or when they entered the room at the start of shift. Eye contact would be made, and if there was a message that needed to be passed, that was the time to do it. It was like raising an alarm.

This was just that type of message, just that kind of alarm he'd hoped he never had to be the one to raise. He'd witnessed a crack in the solid stone exterior that had become Nick Stokes. He didn't want to have to relay this message, but knew he had to before things got any more out of hand. It was all up to him and what he decided to do with the information he had.

He couldn't go to Grissom; he'd do too little. He couldn't go to Catherine; she'd do too much. Sara would cry, and that left him with Warrick, who he knew he should probably tell no matter what. The two had certainly drifted apart lately, but damn, if Warrick wasn't keeping tabs on Nick. Greg was certain he'd be smacked into the next county if Warrick found out about what had happened and it didn't come from his own mouth.

Greg had established the right thing to do, but it was definitely a hard thing to do. At the moment, he seemed to be the only one Nick didn't have a problem with and he would really prefer to keep it that way. He'd spent the rest of the car ride coming to the conclusion that he had to tell someone, no matter what he'd already told Nick. His friend's safety and sanity meant more to him than keeping that friend talking to him.

Greg looked back to David with something more closely resembling his full attention.

David stood and motioned for his colleague to get the body ready for transport. "I'll get the body back to the morgue." He shook his head. "Busy night."

Greg nodded. "Thanks, David." His eyes flicked back over to the darkest corner of the park, where Nick was barely visible in the shadows looming over him.

* * *

There was something wrong with him. It wasn't in his head, it wasn't in Catherine's head, it wasn't jumping to conclusions or being cautious, it wasn't speculation. There was something undeniably, mentally, physically, emotionally _wrong_ with him.

Nick trailed the beam of his flashlight along the length of the playground, paying close attention to the ground, to the movement in the dirt around one of the poles of the swing set. He stopped and stared, fidgeting nervously. He clenched and unclenched his left fist, his right hand keeping an iron-tight grip on his flashlight.

Checking the perimeter of the park, that's all he was doing. Well, that was what he'd told Greg, anyway. He was really just trying to keep his distance, somehow thinking maybe if he stayed away from Greg long enough the other man would simply forget what had happened on the drive over. The truck, unfortunately, wasn't going to forget so easily. He was going to have to pick up some touchup tomorrow to cover the scratches running the length of the passenger side of the SUV.

Nick continued to stare. What in the hell were all of these ants doing out in the middle of the night? Didn't ants sleep? Did they have to be crawling all over the place, swarming and creeping their way over to him? Just harmless little ants, but Nick could feel the grip on his light faltering as his palms slickened with sweat. His heart thumped just a little bit faster.

He could feel Greg's gaze on him as he stood there, along the outskirts of the park. He supposed there was minor cause. Or…major cause. There was the thing in the car, and then that _other_ thing, the one following him everywhere he went. Everyone was on edge around him whenever they worked a scene outdoors and, in all honesty, Nick was a bit surprised it was Greg with him here, and not Catherine. It seemed like something she would do.

Nick wasn't stupid; he knew he had to be careful. A bug bite wasn't something he could take lightly anymore. However, it was cool, and night, and he'd applied a copious amount of bug spray before walking out into the park, just in case. Although he was an adult and perfectly capable of taking care of himself, Catherine had already called and reminded him to be careful. And careful he would be.

Nick took a step back and continued walking along the edge of the park, shaking his head at himself. They were just ants, for Christ's sake. Ants. So small he could take a step and kill a hundred of them.

And how many of those hundred would it take to kill him?

"Hey, Nick!"

Nick turned towards Greg, his very welcome distraction, at the center of the park. "Yeah?" He took a shaky breath and wiped his wrist across his forehead.

Greg jogged over to him. "You find anything?"

Nick shook his head, ashamed he hadn't paid the attention to the scene he should have. "Nah."

His mind's eye was still perfectly picturing dozens of ants making their way towards him from behind. He could almost hear the skittering.

Nick swallowed and shifted his weight. Greg eyed him cautiously, but if there was something he wanted to say, he kept his comments to himself. Nick sent him a silent thanks for being the only one of them with any remaining semblance of self-control, and jerked his head in the direction of the coroner's van. "Is David taking the body back?"

Greg glanced over his shoulder, and Nick took the opportunity to let out the breath he'd been holding since Greg had walked over to him.

"Yeah," Greg said. He cocked his head. "You wanna head back to the lab?"

Nick felt that familiar fire of defiance rising up inside of him. "I'm fine, Greg. I don't need to go back to the lab."

Greg visibly recoiled. "I just meant…if we're done with the scene…" He stammered but his eyes betrayed his frustration.

Nick bit his lip. "Yeah," he said softly. "We're done."

Greg made a movement, something between a shrug and a nod. "Okay." He turned and headed back to the truck, which, despite the scratches, was in the best shape of them all.

Nick tossed back his head and let out a frustrated sigh. He clicked off his flashlight and followed Greg. There was something wrong with him.

There had to be.

* * *

It was just his perfect luck, or perhaps the lack thereof, that all three vehicles pulled into the lab's parking lot at nearly the same time. Nick shook his head at the timing, biting his lip as his teammates exited their respective trucks. He'd let Greg drive back to the lab; "let" being a relative term, as he'd practically shoved the keys into the other CSI's hands. He didn't really trust himself at the moment, and it wasn't a comforting feeling.

He didn't trust his driving abilities, didn't trust his mouth, and didn't want the opportunity to present itself for him to say something irreversibly stupid. A nice quiet night in the lab, going over evidence, not having to talk to anyone – that was all he wanted. Nick could see Greg shift in the seat next to him and he instantly began to worry. But Greg wouldn't tell anyone, he said he wouldn't tell anyone, and he wouldn't lie to him.

As he considered the repercussions of his friends discovering his little episode, worry became panic. They would freak out, Catherine especially. They wouldn't let him out of their sight. They would think he couldn't do his job.

Nick stared unblinking out of the window as Greg pulled the truck into a parking spot. The hand on his arm startled him so badly, he jumped and smacked his right arm against the door. He turned to Greg, wide-eyed.

The younger man looked back at Nick with a serious and seriously concerned expression. Greg swallowed and shook his head. He didn't say anything, but he didn't have to.

Nick smiled and shook it off. "I'm cool. Really."

"I know."

_No, you don't. I can hear it in your voice, Greggo._ Nick nodded and reached for the door handle. As he hopped out of the truck Warrick called out in their direction.

"How was your scene?"

"Pretty boring," Greg said, keeping Nick from having to say anything, for which he was silently grateful. "We didn't find anything more than a few fibers."

Warrick walked over as Sara, Catherine, and Grissom headed for the entrance of the lab. He moved past Nick somewhat cautiously. "That's more than we got," he said.

"We've got quite the night ahead, then." Greg grabbed the evidence bag and his kit, wincing as he drew his right arm out of the back of the truck.

Nick felt a stab of guilt, remembering his friend's sore shoulder, completely his fault.

"You okay, Greg?" It was Grissom who saw it.

_It just figures, _Nick thought.

Greg's eyes reflexively ticked over to Nick, but he recovered quickly and smiled a lopsided smile. "Yeah, I'm cool. Hit the brakes a little hard."

Grissom's eyes narrowed. He was thinking. _Perfect._

"Nick let you drive?" Warrick asked with exaggerated awe.

Sara, who had also made her way over to the men, brought a hand up her eyes and pretended to search the night sky. "Anyone see pigs flying around up there?"

Under any other circumstance, it would have been just the things, just the moment to break the tension between the team. Nick would have laughed, Sara would have accepted it, and things would have been easier between them.

But Nick didn't laugh, and he couldn't take his eyes from Grissom's thoughtful face. He'd barely even heard what Warrick and Sara had said.

Grissom shifted his shoulders with a questioning look. "If you had been driving, Greg, wouldn't you have strained your left shoulder?"

Damn that Gil Grissom. Always thinking.

"Nicky, what happened to the truck?" And damn that Catherine Willows, eyes sharper than anyone.

All eyes turned to inspect the long scratches on the truck. All eyes turned to Greg's gaping, answerless face. And then all eyes turned to Nick.

* * *

To be continued...


	8. Storm Movin' In

_Chapter Eight: Storm Movin' In_

_I talked to absolutely no one_

_Couldn't keep to myself enough_

_And the things bottled inside_

_Had finally begun to create so much pressure_

_That I'd soon blow up_

Something about what happened that night finally did it for Nick, and brought him back to that door. It was more than a piece of paper signed by Ecklie instructing him to take a nice vacation and not come back without a letter from the psychologist; he felt it inside, this was really something he needed now.

He hadn't been here in more than four months, and it was no more inviting now than it had been then. He felt an energy radiating from the threshold, and while his body wanted to take it as a sign to turn and hightail it out of there, his brain somehow conjured up the nerve to reach for the handle. He wasn't going to run away from it this time.

The door was a warm shade of deeply lacquered wood, a balmy tone meant to be inviting and comforting. In this instance, it was not. The plaque next to the door read _Audrey Bruning, M.D._

Doctor Bruning's office was on the fourth floor of the West Las Vegas Medical Center, and she specialized in counseling those in the law enforcement profession. It was Doctor Bruning Nick had been sent to after his abduction and ensuing ordeal. Their therapy sessions had ended after the requirements set by the lab director for his return to work. Each session consisted of an identical routine, week after week. The doctor would start the conversation with some kind of prompt and Nick would answer with whatever short, clipped answer he felt would satisfy the woman enough for her to tell Ecklie, Grissom, anyone else she needed to, that he was fine.

"How are you feeling today, Nick?" would be met with a shrug and, "Okay." Sometimes, she would inquire as to how he was sleeping, and he would answer, "Fine." "How have your work relationships been since you retuned to the lab?" "Okay, I guess."

It turned out she wasn't so easily manipulated, and after only three weeks had her fill of shrugs, 'okay's, 'fine's, and 'I guess's. The afternoon, she refused to be the one to open the dialogue and give Nick something he could brush off with one word, and the two spent the forty minutes sighing and staring at each other until Nick had finally spoken up.

"Why is this so hard?" he'd asked quietly, staring determinedly at his hands.

"I don't know," Doctor Bruning had replied honestly. "But if you actually talk to me, maybe we can figure it out."

So Nick talked, for a few weeks. Nothing too specific, though that had been the intended purpose of the counseling, and as soon as he'd completed the required number of sessions he'd stopped going, and stopped talking about it altogether. There was no denying this could account for the repression he was now carting around with him on a daily basis. Things didn't remain repressed forever, and he'd finally hit his limit. And now here he was again.

Sitting now on that supposedly comforting and inviting leather couch, once again staring at his hands, Nick felt just as uncomfortable as he had on his first visit. What was really unnerving him was the amount of notes she was taking. She hadn't stopped writing since he'd sat down.

"Have these episodes been happening frequently?"

Nick winced away from the word. Episode. Made it sound like he was a bedridden invalid, or a loony. Maybe both. He shrugged.

Doctor Bruning cocked her head and her pen momentarily paused in its scratching along her paper. "Nick." It was a warning tone, almost maternal, and odd coming from a therapist. It said, very clearly, _I'm not doing this with you again._

Nick sat back heavily against the back of the couch. "I don't know. I guess."

The scratching resumed. "How frequently?"

Shrug. _Wait, they don't like that. _"Once a week?" He tapped his fingers nervously on the smooth surface on the sofa cushion. "More so lately."

"How much more so?"

Tap, tap, tap. Scratch, scratch, scratch. "Once a day." He suddenly felt vulnerable, admitting this to the doctor, who was more or less a stranger.

Nick really wanted to know what she was writing about. How crazy he was? Maybe if she took enough notes, she could turn his case into a really nice article for some psychology journal. Lord knows, he had his share of problems, and probably a couple of other people's shares, too.

"Any thoughts as to what is bringing these episodes about?"

_Plenty of thoughts. No answers, though. _"I don't know."

"Maybe something someone said? Something you saw?" She had yet to really look up from that legal pad and make eye contact. Maybe she thought it would be easier for him to talk to her if he didn't feel the pressure of being watched. Maybe she was right.

"Greg asked me what was going on." As if she knew who Greg was. Tap, tap, tap.

She glanced up at his fingers. Good, maybe she would understand how annoying all that writing was. He was on his last nerve as it was.

"Was this the other night?"

"Yeah."

"And what exactly happened the other night?"

Nick chewed on his lip. He didn't like her tone. She had to have known he wasn't there one hundred percent of his own free will; she had to have gotten a phone call, during which things had been said. He was sure she knew exactly what had happened, and he didn't like that she was feigning ignorance and insulting his intelligence.

But whether he liked it or not, if he wanted to keep his job, he was going to have to start talking. "I started thinking, and I guess I just wasn't paying attention to what I was doing."

"What were you doing?" She already knew. He could hear it in her tone.

"Driving." His voice was low. His fingers were cold.

Her pen was scratchy. "And what else happened that night that brought you here?"

Nick sighed. He stopped tapping and clasped his hands together between his knees. His fingers were like ice. "I told them."

"And then what happened?"

_All hell broke loose._

* * *

"Nicky, what happened to the truck?"

Nick was already constructing a lie before they all turned to look at him, before his mouth even opened. He realized pretty quickly there was no getting away with it. Nothing he could come up with on such short notice could encompass the scratches on his vehicle, Greg's shoulder, and the reason why Greg both said he'd been driving then and was in fact driving now. His brain wasn't processing information very quickly at the moment.

All he had to work with was the stern, investigatory look of Grissom, the wide-eyed concern of Sara, the pinched face of being on the receiving end of too many lies from Warrick, an I'm-going-to-hug-you-if-you-don't-stop-me cock of the head from Catherine, and a-glad-to-fall-on-the-sword-for-you-if-you-ask-me-to-right-now look from Greg. He had all of that, and he had the truth.

And for the first time in months, he decided to go with the truth. He felt cornered, exposed and vulnerable, and knew there was no way he was going to get out of there without it.

"Okay," he said, and choked up, suddenly feeling like he was back in middle school, giving the clichéd "How I Spent My Summer Vacation" report in front a group of his peers who couldn't care less he had spent nine weeks working at the stable of a friend of his parents for free lunch and riding lessons.

The big difference here: his audience was exhibiting very much the opposite of disinterest. No, they were focused and listening with rapt attention, close but scattered in the middle of the parking lot, like poorly tossed confetti. The big similarity was, with all of those people watching and waiting for him to speak, how much he wanted to run into the bathroom and throw up.

"Okay," he tried again. He chewed his lip again. "It was really nothing to worry about – "

"Nicky." Okay, so Catherine wasn't going to let him stall. And she apparently wanted to continue this conversation with a ten-year-old version of himself.

Nick's eyes narrowed and he felt a familiar frustration start to stir up inside of him. He put his hands on his hips and looked away. If it really wasn't anything to worry about, then how come he couldn't even say the words? Because he knew they would worry.

"I just…I don't know, spaced out in the car and we went a little off of the road." There. Ha. That was all there was to it. Wasn't that hard.

Sara's fingers softly traced the grooves in the side of the truck. "A little off of the road," she repeated in a near-whisper. "Nick, these are deep."

_Damn, if Greg had just parked next to the wall._ "It's okay," he found himself saying. "We're fine."

Greg was quick to nod in agreement, and Nick didn't miss the look Warrick shot his way. Greg shrank back.

There was a blessed quiet moment while everyone seemed to be pondering the situation. Nick waited anxiously, trying not to chew his lip to pieces, to see what their reactions were going to be.

"Has this sort of thing happened before?" Okay, waiting over. And this was from Grissom. Christ Almighty, the world was coming to an end.

Nick wouldn't have been nearly as surprised if he had known then those were going to be close to the only words he would speak to him that night.

Nick didn't want to meet his supervisor's eyes. He didn't want to meet _any_ of their eyes, but more than anything, he didn't want to give Grissom the opportunity to read him. Grissom had that little Grissom way of his that he just saw every damn thing, but only when you didn't want him to.

"Nick, man. Come on." He didn't want to look at Warrick, either. Definitely didn't want to look at Warrick.

He had done a lot of lying to Warrick over the months. A lot of withholding information, which he thought was a little better than the lying. A lot of 'I'm fine's. A lot of 'nothing's. A lot of 'Nah, I think I'm just gonna turn in early's. That was, of course, during those too few times Warrick had tried to talk about it.

"Once or twice." His voice was a hoarse whisper, because that's what happens when you lie under pressure. He wrapped his arms around himself and suppressed a shiver. It wasn't exactly warm outside, but it didn't seem to be bothering anyone except himself. No one spoke, and that was evidence enough for him that they didn't believe him.

He looked even further away, if it was possible. His neck was twisted nearly all the way around. "A lot of times."

It was even quieter. The breeze running through them was louder than the words. He just wanted to disappear.

One of them sighed, and Nick detected a hint of anger. Probably Warrick. He _would_ be the one to be pissed. Grissom would be disappointed. He didn't really know what the others were thinking, but he knew Grissom was disappointed. He could feel it, and it made him wish for a hole to open up in the concrete under him and swallow him up, spit him out in the morning, and let him pretend this wasn't happening.

"Aw, Nicky, why didn't you tell us?"

That calm, soothing, patronizing tone combined with Catherine's hand, cold as his own, gripping his and he was ten again. Not an adult. Not capable of handling himself. A child who needed someone to hold his hand. Needed someone to tuck him in and tell him the monsters in his closet were just in his imagination.

It was the tone. It was the hand. It was the 'Nicky.' It was the proverbial last straw.

Feeling his face start to flush and his temper start to rise up again with more force than ever, Nick looked back at them and pulled his hand away. "Why do you think?"

That's what he wanted to say. "Is there any way I could have told you that you all wouldn't be looking at me the way you are right now? Like I'm made of goddamned glass? Like I can't take care of myself?"

It was what he wanted to say. And it took him a whole three seconds to realize he _had_ said it.

After four seconds, Nick realized his mouth was still hanging open, in awe of its own betrayal to his thoughts. He sure didn't feel cold anymore, but numb. It spread throughout all of his limbs, and he bit his lip harder, just to make sure he could still feel something.

"That's…that's not what we think." Sara's face seemed to be trying to close in on itself, trying to keep all of her emotions from rushing to the surface at once. She'd spoken so quietly, it seemed to have been said in Nick's head, for him alone to hear.

He didn't want to answer.

"That's a load, Sara. Do you guys think I don't see all of those little looks you throw around at each other?"

He didn't want to answer, but that didn't mean he wouldn't.

"We're just worried about you, man," Warrick said, stepping forward. In his eyes was an out of character look of desperation. His voice hit a rarely heard high. Warrick was getting emotional.

_Batten down the hatches, there's a storm movin' in._

"Only when it's convenient though, right?" Nick's mouth was now working independently of his brain's better judgment. He heard himself saying the words, and at the same time he was screaming in his head to shut up, before things got any worse. And on another level, he really didn't give a damn.

Greg stepped forward, his face drawn and serious. "That's not fair, Nick."

"We thought we were doing the right thing by giving you some space," Warrick said. There was now a defensive edge in his voice. The others nodded their agreement.

Nick shook his head. Maybe this strategy had worked at first, but space had been the last thing he needed. All he'd done was to retreat further and take up an even more solitary lifestyle than he'd begun with. He'd forgotten how to be open with people, and without anyone offering to listen, well, he supposed that's how they got to this head.

Sara moved to stand next to him. Her hand twitched as though it wanted to grasp his, but she knew better. "You just haven't been yourself lately," she said tentatively.

The words were coming again, and there was no fighting them back. "What did you think was going to happen?" Nick demanded, throwing his arms side. He was unable to keep his anger out of his voice. He felt all of the things he'd been keeping inside for months to collect in his mouth, all fighting to be the first one heard. "That I was going to come back to work and everything was going to be like it was?"

"It can be," Warrick started to say, but Nick didn't let him.

"No," he said, shaking his head. "It can't be. Things are different." He swallowed, refusing to give into _those_ looks, and looked away. "_I'm _different."

There was something wrong with him. There had to be.

"Nicky – "

"Catherine, I'm not your damned child!" he snapped. It was an overreaction of the very best, the epitome of blowing things out of proportion. Nick was rapidly losing control over what he was saying, what he was thinking, what he was feeling.

She predictably recoiled, mouth open, and no one else spoke. Probably out of fear for unleashing whatever beast had taken up residence in the body of their soft-spoken, mild-mannered friend and colleague.

Their soft-spoken, mild-mannered friend and colleague stared straight ahead, straight into Grissom's chillingly blue eyes, as if daring him to say something. Perhaps pleading with him to say something. Nick really wasn't sure.

Grissom had remained stony and silent thus far. It was too bad, because he had the words Nick needed to hear.

Nick wasn't sure how much time had passed, but he was simply standing there, waiting and wanting to get something, _anything_ out of the man that had been his mentor, his colleague, and his friend.

It felt as though this whole thing had been for nothing. He didn't feel any better, personally, and didn't think anything had been helped by him having said, or yelled, what he had. Everyone was avoiding eye contact, looking away at some leaf on a tree, a crack in the pavement. Everyone except Nick and Grissom, eyes locked in a silent battle of stubbornness and will. The air was loud with emotional static, and Nick thought his head might finally explode from it all.

Suddenly, the silent timer went off. Nick let out a long, loud, agonizingly frustrated breath, and turned and left them all standing there in the parking lot.

That had been his plan, anyway. To have them watch him storm off into the lab, letting him find a place to cool off. Instead, a hand gripped his arm and he whirled to find himself facing Warrick.

"We're not leaving it like this," he said.

In his voice, Nick heard a lot of things. Desperation, an unfamiliar hollowness. He heard a threat. He heard fear. He heard nothing that he wanted to hear; Grissom was standing just as calm, just as still, just as silent, and just behind Warrick.

_Watch me, _Nick thought, somehow keeping the words inside, and he angrily yanked his arm away from the other man. He picked up his pace as he stalked through the glass double doors.

"Nick!" Multiple sets of footsteps came after him, and he stupidly turned to see Warrick and Sara coming in the doors behind him.

"You can't just say these things and then walk away," Sara said loudly. The stopper had finally been removed, her words stuttered with the sobs she'd been fighting.

Nick shook his head. "It's not like we're going to talk about it, anyway," he said sarcastically.

Over their shoulders, he caught sight of the others heading for the doors. Catherine appeared to be yelling something at Grissom, and Greg walked a few steps behind, keeping an uncomfortable distance between them, shoulders hunched like a guilty child.

"Not with that attitude we're not," Warrick said firmly.

Nick sighed. "Just forget it," he said, and tried again to walk away.

The doors opened behind him and there was more stomping as the others entered the building.

"Nick, wait a minute," Catherine called, having apparently found her voice once more in his momentary absence.

"Just forget it!" he repeated, yelling it back without looking over his shoulder.

"Hey!" A new voice sounded in the melee, ignored by all.

"Nick!"

That new voice should have stopped him, but it was too little, too late, and Nick ignored Grissom's call.

"Damn it, Nick!" Warrick yelled, stalking after him.

"_Hey!"_ The shouting stopped as Conrad Ecklie, none too thrilled about being ignored the first time, stepped into the picture. "This is a workplace, not a schoolyard," he said loudly, storming down the hall towards the assembled graveyard shift. It must have been like Christmas morning for a man like him.

Ecklie's eyes shot daggers at Nick, already labeled the instigator, but he spoke to Grissom. "These walls aren't soundproof, and your team has been disrupting and distracting my staff all week, Gil."

Nick glared back, and his stoic boss made no move to apologize.

"What is this, Gil?" Ecklie continued. "Get this together, or get it out of my lab." Ecklie jabbed his index finger viciously at Grissom's chest.

Nick opened his mouth, but was quickly silenced.

"Don't even start with me, Stokes. You're already out of here." He sneered as Nick frowned. "Do you think I don't have ears? I have them all over this lab, and every one of them has been telling me you're the one starting all this trouble."

Grissom stepped forward, not looking anywhere in the vicinity of where Nick was standing. "Conrad, there are things going on you don't under – "

"I understand just fine, Gil," he interrupted, drawing himself up to his full height. "If he's not able to work in this lab, then he shouldn't be in this lab."

Nick felt his cheeks grow hot. He didn't like being talked about like he wasn't standing right there. Grissom moved to protest further, but Nick held out a hand to stop him. "Don't do me any favors, Grissom," he said, his voice sounding surprisingly cold to his own ears. "I'll go. Wouldn't want to make your precious lab look bad," he said to Ecklie, venom in his tone.

Nick turned, refusing to meet the eyes of anyone in the hall, and left the lab. He didn't even bother to go to the locker room to change clothes.

Ecklie didn't go through the trouble of waiting for Nick to be out of earshot before refocusing his anger and whirling on Grissom. "Your boy scout needs a timeout, Gil."

Nick could practically feel his ears redden to match his flushing cheeks. He might have been a lot of things, but he was not Gil Grissom's anything.

* * *

Nick relayed the events to Doctor Bruning, in not so many words. He'd had two days to dwell already, and had calmed down considerably. He was left now with a temper simmering on low heat, but knew as soon as someone turned up that burner, he would boil over all over again. He hadn't spoken with anyone in those two days. Not for lack of trying; not on their part, anyway. He'd missed three calls in just the time it took to drive home that night, and another four as he sat steaming in his living room. They seemed to be taking turns, but everyone was reluctant to leave a message. Everyone except Greg.

"_Nick, don't stress it. Ecklie's a dick, and everyone knows it. Don't take it personally, he's got that lab review or something, and you know how he is…I'm not really sure what happened tonight, but I do know that it's totally fixable. If you don't want to call back tonight, or even tomorrow, I understand. Everyone else will, too. Just think about it, okay?"_

Yeah, he would think about it. Ecklie had made sure he would have plenty of time to think about it.

* * *

To be continued...


	9. On My End

_Chapter Nine: On My End_

After Nick stalked out of the lab that chilly night, it took all of thirty seconds for the graveyard shift to implode in on itself, and because of his proximity, Conrad Ecklie.

"You were going to lie for him, weren't you?"

"Wouldn't you, after what he's been through?"

Conrad sighed and pursed his lips, glaring out at the bickering CSIs. He would have thought his not-so-subtle comment about the lab's lack of soundproofing capabilities would have resounded with them, but he seemed to be having a luckless night.

"Why didn't you say anything to him, Gil?"

Conrad really didn't know how Grissom put up with all of that incessant nagging. He would pay good money to just one time hear the man tell Willows to shut the hell up. But Gil Grissom was Gil Grissom, and his only response was to squint as he stared blankly down the hall at the doors through which his little trooper had just exited.

"Why did you have to say what you did, Catherine?"

"I was trying to be comforting – "

"Maybe you should try a little harder next time," Sidle cut the other woman off, her voice rising.

Brown snorted and rubbed his face. "If we get a next time." There was an aimless accusation in his tone.

"This isn't helping anything," Sanders interjected, before the others could continue to fight with one another.

What the little mediator. Conrad wanted to gag. He brought his hands up to his head and massaged his temples. Unfortunately, no amount of pressure was going to rid him of this annoyance. "Everyone, shut up!" he demanded loudly.

The group of CSIs seemed to have forgotten he was even there, and they turned as one, regarding him with varying shades of anger and disgust, all of which he shook off easily. Like water off of a duck.

Conrad returned the glares. "Nick is on leave," he said, stammering slightly as he fought not to use the word 'suspension.' Though it was the truth, voicing it to this bunch certainly wouldn't help the matter any. He turned his eyes to the captain of this sinking ship. "One week, minimum," he started to explain.

"What? Why?" Brown asked, eyes fiery with anger. "Because you want him out of here for your little review?" He practically spat out the word.

While the upcoming lab review _was_ figuring into his decision, there was no doubt about that, there were other factors involved. Factors he wasn't going to discuss in front of this group, no matter what it would make them think of him.

"Grissom," Conrad began, gesturing down the hall in the direction of his office.

"Do you ever think about anyone but yourself?" Willows chimed in.

Given the events of the past few minutes, Conrad found her words a bit hypocritical, but somehow managed to keep his comments to himself. "We'll continue this in my office," he gritted through clenched teeth, nodding to Grissom.

Grissom understood the implication, and he nodded. However, he made no move to calm the remnants of his team. Namely, Willows.

"Oh," she continued, crossing her arms. "So it's okay to humiliate people in front of their coworkers, just as long as it's not you."

Grissom finally shot her a look. "That's enough, Catherine."

_That's it, Gil,_ Conrad thought. _Reign in your beloved troops._ He also shot Willows a look, though his was laced with a bit more distaste.

He impatiently turned back to Grissom with raised eyebrows. "My office?"

As he turned and moved towards his office, Grissom on his heels, Conrad heard the remaining CSIs continue to dig at one another.

"Don't try and stick up for him now." Sidle's voice was bitter, angry, and annoying as ever.

"This isn't my fault, Sara."

"Guys," Sanders said sharply. "Enough already!"

'Enough' was right. Conrad held open the door for Grissom before letting it shut with more force than was necessary.

"On what grounds are you suspending Nick?" Gil asked, not wasting any time. It was odd he only seemed to find his voice in a contained setting. It was odd he only seemed to be the support his team craved when they weren't around.

Conrad wanted to laugh. He thought the man would have at least understood his actions from a professional standpoint. "If this is how he's acting with you, and you're supposed to be his friends, I can only imagine how he'd behave in an interview with a suspect."

Conrad's lip curled, and he gave Grissom a superior smile. "Wait, I don't have to imagine it, do I? Let's just take a look back at the McBride case." A case file still conveniently resting in a drawer in his desk.

"That's not necessary," Grissom said, his voice low.

Of course it wasn't; they'd had this talk only a couple of weeks earlier, right after the incident in question.

"_He doesn't usually act this way, Conrad, you know that," Grissom said, his voice hinting at the concern the man was feeling for his CSI. "This is the first time his actions have been called into question."_

_Conrad kept his posture straight, staring down at the case file lying open on his desk. Nick Stokes' personnel file sat next to it. "We don't just let these things slide. I don't like to make exceptions. Not for anyone."_

_Grissom looked away. "He connected with the victim. It's happened before."_

_Conrad leaned back in his chair. "So what's different now?"_

_Grissom turned back, but didn't say anything. _

_Conrad didn't know if it was because he couldn't find the words or if he was just that damned clueless. Either way, both men knew what was going to happen. He really didn't like to make exceptions, and he wasn't going to let Stokes off scot-free. That wasn't going to do the kid any good._

_Conrad sighed. "I'll give him a warning," he said, making the mark in Stokes' file. "But as his supervisor, you need to have a conversation with him. If he can't keep a professional disposition on a case, then he's not going to be useful to this lab."_

"_I'll take care of it." Grissom's words, as always, sounded hollow and weightless to his ears. He had a habit of not flowing through with the things he told Conrad he would do._

_Conrad finished the documentation and slid the file across the desktop for Grissom's signature. He watched as the man read the note he'd made, frowning. _

_He leaned forward, folding his hands on his desk. "I'm not making excuses for him, Gil. And you shouldn't, either. If he's not emotionally ready to carry this kind of workload, then we can cut his hours, or keep him in the lab, and eventually work him back up."_

"_That's not necessary," Grissom said, picking up a pen and signing the file._

Of course not. Nothing requiring communication on the part of Gil Grissom was ever necessary. Conrad had spent the past two weeks wondering if he should have gone ahead with the suspension, his gut reaction and initial course of action. Now, he had his answer.

Conrad leaned back, sitting on the edge of his desk. He crossed his arms and sighed. "Look, Gil. I already gave the kid a break, and you didn't follow through on your end."

"I understand your position," Grissom said coolly. "But I can take care of my own team, Conrad."

"I've given you ample time to 'take care' of your team, Gil." Conrad paused, one of the few times he stopped to consider his words. He had more to take into consideration than his anger at Nick's behavior over the past few days. "You've had six months, and things aren't getting any better."

Grissom stood remarkably statue-like, hands shoved defensively into his pockets, and absorbed his words. "What do you want me to do with him?"

Conrad shook his head. He knew what the chatter was, what people had to say about him, but in his opinion, it was the man standing in front of him who would never learn. He flipped through the rolodex on his desk. "I'm not your team counselor, but I'll give you a hint."

He pulled out a business card and handed it to Grissom. "As I said, Nick is suspended for one week, at least, and I want him to see Doctor Bruning."

Grissom regarded the card with a frown. "Nick's already been through all of the required therapy to come back to work. He's been cleared for months now."

"And we're right back in the same boat." Conrad nodded at the card, his expression serious. "I'm not making the call, and neither are you."

Grissom looked up, his face manipulated by the weight of a dozen questions.

Conrad moved around his desk and sat in his chair. He turned to the computer, and after a few moments printed a short letter to Nick, with the lab header at the top. He scrawled a quick signature across the bottom and dug up an envelope.

"Get him the number yourself," he said seriously, handing the envelope to Grissom, "and get him to call." With that said, he began tidying up the papers on his desktop, regaining his seemingly cold composure. "He's not going back on the schedule until I've spoken with the doctor and am satisfied with what she has to say."

"Why are you doing this?"

The question gave Conrad pause. In his little Conrad Ecklie fantasy world, Grissom just took his words as orders and accepted. But here in the real world, he always had a question. It was Conrad's job to always have an answer, or a comeback, however one wanted to look at it. Here, there were so many possible answers, none of which seemed to satisfy himself, let alone the man with the questions. He went with what he knew best.

"It's my job to look after the lab's best interests," Conrad answered without looking up, signaling the conversation's end. He could sense Grissom still standing there, but refused to glance up, hoping if he ignored the other man long enough, he would leave.

"You're a better man than we give you credit for."

Conrad's eyes narrowed in response, nearly burning twin holes into the file he was holding. "We were done, Gil."

There was no response, but he wasn't expecting one. Grissom had left.

* * *

Nick made it home that night in record time, trying to take out some of his frustration while driving. He had an ironically lucky drive home, hitting all green lights on the way. Probably a good thing, too, because he might have roared right through a red light out of pure spite. Not exactly safe or smart, but good for bit of tension release. His cell phone rang three times during the drive, and he didn't even bother to check the screen. He wasn't going to waste the energy turning off the ringer, either, and give them the satisfaction. He let it ring and ring, and when he didn't hear the voicemail chime, he shook his head with a short laugh. _Only when it's convenient for them_.

He slammed his truck into park in his driveway and fumbled to get the key into the lock on his front door. He didn't even notice his hands had started shaking. He would have slammed the door shut, but for his consideration of others. It was early morning, and his neighbors were sleeping.

Nick tossed his phone onto the counter and checked the clock to see just how early it actually was. A quarter till two. Great. His sleeping schedule was getting screwed with now, too. It was just as well, because he was way too tense and wired for sleep.

His phone rang again, and again he resisted the urge to see who was calling. It really didn't matter, because he didn't feel like speaking to any of them.

Nick attempted to release some tension, pacing the length of his living room, clenching and unclenching his fists, rethinking the conversation that had just taken place. He was out of there for, as of now, an undetermined period of time. Ecklie hadn't been very specific with him, so he was sure a phone call regarding the exact duration was on its way.

As if on cue, his phone rang again, and Nick gave a heavy, frustrated sigh, flinging himself onto the couch. His leg jiggled nervously as he stared at the blank screen of the television. He reached out for the remote, thankfully within arm's reach, and hit the 'power' button. Instead of being granted a pleasant distraction, his eyes screwed up in confusion when the screen filled with snowy static.

"What the…" he started, then remembered.

The cable bill, due last week. Great, just great. Just something else that had managed to slip his mind. It wasn't the first time this had happened, and he was going to have to find a new provider if this kept up.

Nick switched off the television and paused a moment. Just a moment, and then he heaved the remote across the room. He let out a satisfied breath as it struck the far wall and clattered to the floor in two pieces, a battery bouncing across the rug. Not the most constructive way to rid himself of some of that frustration, but certainly effective. He wasn't feeling quite as angry…more stupid, though. Now he had nothing to do but sit and stew in his own little self and friend-loathing world.

His phone rang once more.

"You're wasting your time," Nick said under his breath, vaguely searching for anything else invaluable within arm's reach he could throw.

He was reaching for a stack of cork coasters from the end table when he heard something he hadn't expected. The sound of a new voicemail message. He tossed a coaster between his hands and stared at the cell phone on the counter across the room.

"Ah, hell," he said, and pulling himself up off of the couch. He was ninety-nine percent sure it would have been neither Grissom nor Catherine. That just wouldn't make sense, not with what he'd said to Cath, and not with Grissom being Grissom. He was surprised to realize that he was more willing to talk to one of the others.

"_Nick, don't stress it. Ecklie's a dick, and everyone knows it. Don't take it personally, he's got that lab review or something, and you know how he is…I'm not really sure what happened tonight, but I do know that it's totally fixable. If you don't want to call back tonight, or even tomorrow, I understand. Everyone else will, too. Just think about it, okay?"_

Nick wasn't so sure Greg was right, that things were still so easily fixable. Maybe, if that night hadn't happened, but now, he didn't know.

He didn't call back.

* * *

Greg left his message, disconnected the call, and sighed. He knew he wasn't the only one who'd tried calling Nick, but he wasn't about to go out onto the battlefield and inquire as to the others' luck. He'd staked out this little corner of the lab and settled in for a long night of trying to avoid group speculation and frustration.

After shouting at his friends, effectively ending the fight that had been building like carbonation in a soda bottle, he'd stalked off to a workroom with his evidence bag, figuring that was best way to safely make it through the night, and a distraction to keep himself from dwelling on what had just happened.

Greg had to admit, a part of him was proud of Nick for finally saying what had been on his mind. At the same time, he was disappointed in himself for not catching on sooner. He was just as much to blame as everyone else, and the proof was in the fact that Nick hadn't answered his call. A wishful, childish part of Greg had really thought he would pick up.

_We screwed up. Big time._ Greg sighed again and reached for his evidence bag. He guessed he was working solo again. It just didn't seem so cool now.

* * *

There was a knock at the door.

Nick's eyes shot over to the clock, where they widened in surprise. Though the sun was now up, he guessed he hadn't really figured so much time could have passed. It was the perfect time for an impromptu 'we're so sorry' visit, as shift had ended just a little while ago.

Nick sat, arms crossed, weighing the pros and cons of opening the door or letting whomever was on his stoop stand there like an idiot for a few minutes before giving up and leaving. Another, more insistent knock caused him to roll his eyes and heave himself up off of the couch. He walked with heavy steps to the door and pulled it open with a scowl in place.

"Gris," he said, surprised and instantly furious with himself. He'd intended on a silent glare, but seeing Grissom there surprised him. Of all people, he was the last one Nick would have expected to come by. This wasn't Grissom; he liked to be shut up in his office, staring at bugs and sipping tea and covering his ears and shutting his eyes to the problems the people around were having. Grissom didn't pop by to talk things out.

Seeing Grissom made him angry. The man had just stood there, not giving him any support or even a hint of understanding. On the other hand, he wasn't sure he was so right in being angry with the people he'd shut out for months. But anger suited him more at the moment, and he could waste time with guilt and confusion later.

"What brings you by?" Nick asked with a big, fake smile, but the look in his eyes was icy cold. He held onto the doorframe, standing in the threshold.

Grissom stood with his hands in the pockets of his forensics jacket, eyeing him cautiously. "I was on my way home," he said carefully. "Can I come in?"

_Are you kidding me?_ Nick didn't care for a lecture, and he sure as hell wasn't going to allow one to happen in his own home. His eyes narrowed. "What do you want, Grissom?"

Grissom manipulated his mouth into a small uncomfortable smile and inspected the ground. "How are you?"

Nick just glared, not even dignifying the question with a response.

"Right." There was a world of guilt in that word. Grissom sighed. "I spoke to Ecklie about your suspension – "

"How long?" Nick interjected.

While clearly stung by the harsh, uncharacteristic interruption, Grissom didn't let it show in his voice, remaining as calm and steady as ever. "At least a week."

Nick crossed his arms. "'At least'?"

An envelope was held out to him. Nick frowned and took it, immediately ripping it open and scanning the first few lines of the short note inside. He looked up sharply. "A shrink?" _Again?_

Nick's heart sped up to a near-frantic beat as the weight of the words hit home. He forced the panic he was feeling from his face and focused on the anger. His frown deepened and he held the paper back out to Grissom. "No thanks."

Grissom didn't move to take it. "I'm not asking you, Nick."

"You're _telling_ me?"

Grissom shifted his weight, nodding at the note in Nick's hand. "Ecklie's telling you."

Nick gave a short laugh and inspected the rest of the note. Sure enough, there was Ecklie's signature. "Since when is Conrad Ecklie an advocate for my mental health?" He cocked his head mock consideration. "Since when are you, for that matter?"

It was clear Grissom was affected by Nick's words, and Nick was glad for it. The older man took a breath, letting it out slowly. He looked away, down the calm, quiet street. When he looked back, it seemed to be a struggle for him to meet Nick's eyes. "I've been trying, Nick, to take your feelings, what you went through, into consid – "

"I'll see the doctor, Grissom," Nick said suddenly. He'd already decided there would be no lecture, and no reconciliation that day. The situation was more serious than that. Grissom wasn't going to make up for the last few months of silence in an instant.

Nick straightened to his full height and backed into his house. "See you in a week."

And he shut the door, before either of them could utter another word.

* * *

To be continued...


	10. In Places We Shouldn't Be

_Chapter Ten: In Places We Shouldn't Be_

Warrick Brown was sick and tired. He wasn't a fan of clichés, as he'd pointed out to Sara earlier in the week, but he was just so damned sick and tired of it all.

He was sick and tired of feeling like he was hiding things from his best friend. Nick had been happy when Warrick told him about Tina, but there'd been a hurt look in his eyes, that question of why. Not why he'd married her, but why he'd kept the seriousness of their relationship from him.

Honestly, Warrick didn't know why he hadn't said anything. He hadn't even thought about it. They'd been out, they'd had a few cocktails, and things just happened. It was Vegas, after all. Just because they were townies didn't mean they couldn't fall victim to the magic of the bright lights and dozens of wedding chapels. Things just happened.

Things happened. People drifted apart. Warrick wished it wasn't true, but he was finding out the hard way how it could happen to anyone, because it was happening to him.

He was sick and tired of feeling like he didn't know his best friend anymore. He'd vowed to be Tina's best friend for the rest of his life, but a game and beers with your woman wasn't the same as a game and beers with your boy. Nick was his boy, or used to be. Drinks after work, the big game – and with them, every game was a big game – at one of their places. Now, it was as though they weren't even putting in the effort to make the time. They saw each other at work and said "later" in the parking lot, a "later" that now implied, 'see you next shift' instead of 'call me to see what we're doing today.' Warrick honestly and guiltily couldn't remember the last time they'd had a meaningful conversation. Probably before "it."

They didn't talk about "it," and Warrick didn't like to think about "it" because "it" made him mad. Not a simple 'the dog pissed in my shoe again' mad; he got so red-hot furious deep down inside, it felt as though he was burning up from the inside out.

The harsh reality of his mood of late came crashing down on him when Tina sat him down in the living room a couple of days earlier when he got home from work. The morning after Nick's suspension.

She met him at the door as usual, armed with a hug and a plate of pancakes. She released him and took a step back, frowning, her brown eyes filled with a loving concern. "Bad night?"

She'd asked the same question the day before. Sara had asked the same question a few days before that. Women were remarkably observant, especially when you didn't want them to be.

"Something like that." He'd answered the same the day before, and a few days before that. It was just another nauseating routine he was getting stuck in.

Warrick shut the door and tossed his jacket into the couch, sinking heavily onto the plush cushion next to it.

Tina set the pancakes on the table and took a seat across from him. "You want to tell me about it?"

Warrick ran a hand over his face. "Maybe later."

Right now he just needed time to sort things out. He hadn't spoken to Nick, or even his voicemail, since everything went down. He really didn't know what to talk about, because he didn't really know what was going on.

Tina wasn't about to let the subject drop there. "What's on your mind, baby?"

Warrick considered answering her in full but doubted they had that kind of time. He sighed and reached out, rubbing her hand. He tried to give her a reassuring smile, but seemed to fail miserably.

Tina's eyes dropped, and she pulled her hand into her lap. "I hardly recognize you these days."

The words scared Warrick, but she continued before he could respond.

'You're so…you just look so angry." Tears welled in her eyes at the thought.

Warrick's mouth dropped open. He hadn't been expecting this kind of talk, not one this serious, and especially not so soon into the relationship. "I – I'm sorry, baby," he said softly, squeezing her hands gently.

She had to have known what was on his mind; the same thing he'd been trying so hard to keep out of his thoughts for months. They'd sort of talked about "it" right after "it" had happened. It was Tina's sympathy, and her understanding way of simply being there for him that had helped to convince him that he could make this work with her. That no one would get him the way she could.

Of course, all of that talking had occurred in the later part of the summer. They'd connected, bonded, gotten married…and then Warrick had started falling back into his old routine. But it wasn't just Warrick, it was everyone. Their combined efforts at denial and repression had resulted in positive short-term results; the team had been working tensely, but well, together. The main point – Nick seemed to be doing well. The problem was, the time for short-term results was long past, and they were rapidly moving into the timeframe for long-term effects, and these were proving to be troublesome for all parties involved.

In Warrick's case, he was far too often finding himself with a shorter temper than usual. He snapped at people for almost no reason and was at an almost constant state of irritation while at work. The building seemed filled to the ceiling with a constant sense of tension, and now he knew why. He'd been there firsthand when the top blew off of the whole thing.

"I'm worried about you," Tina continued, and the crack in her voice told Warrick this was hard for her, and she might be struggling to say something even harder. She broke eye contact to stare at the pattern in the couch cushions.

Warrick was worried, too, by her tone and demeanor. Their life as a married couple had recently been feeling strained. There was more than enough love between them; that had never been an issue. Their busy work schedules didn't give them the quality time together they would like, and in the past few weeks the mutual frustration had started to become more and more apparent. It wasn't unprecedented; couples had fallen apart for much less.

"Will you talk to someone?"

Warrick looked at her with wide eyes. "What do you mean?"

Tina swallowed, clearly feeling that what she was about to propose wasn't something he was going to be crazy about. "Doesn't the department offer a therapist for officers?"

"Yeah, after shootings…"

"I'm sure she's there for whomever needs it." Tina brought her eyes up, and they were brimming with the hope and light that had first reeled Warrick in the night they'd met.

He wasn't going to let her down; it wasn't even an option. He nodded and offered her a small smile. "Of course, baby. I…she?"

"What?"

"You said 'she'," Warrick pointed out, frowning slightly. "Did you already look into this?"

Tina didn't even flinch. "Yes," she said matter-of-factly. "A few months ago, right after…"

Warrick had to look away. He knew she trailed off because of the look that had come over his face, and knew that expression was exactly the kind of thing she was talking about. No one could even speak the words. "Kidnapping" and "abduction" just weren't words people were saying these days.

Warrick took a few deep breaths and looked back resolutely at his wife. "I'll do it."

Tina's smile seemed to reach all the way up to her eyes. She gave his hands a shake. "Really?"

Warrick couldn't help but return that sweet smile. It was contagious. "Really. For you, baby."

Tina shook her head. "No, Warrick. Do it for you."

* * *

He wasn't hiding.

No matter what people were saying, and with those involved, he was sure they were saying all sorts of things...he wasn't hiding. No matter how many times Sara or Greg wanted to shoot him those innocent, puppy-dog eyes, no matter how many glares Catherine wanted to fling his way as she passed by his office, he wasn't hiding.

It had been three days since Nick's suspension and, as far as Gil knew, three days since anyone had spoken with him. It had been almost as long since anyone had spoken to _him._ They just gave him those looks.

There seemed to be an unspoken consensus that he was to blame for everything that had transpired, but Gil was inclined to disagree. He was a very methodical thinker, and been thinking very methodically for three straight days. He just happened to be doing so in his office. With the door closed.

Nick was upset, and Gil supposed he was justified to that feeling. His CSI had been through a lot, and he himself found the suspension to be an overreaction on the part of Conrad Ecklie. He'd gone to the man – well, called him from his office – to try to convince him to allow Nick back into the lab sooner than the designated week, and predictably had no luck in the matter. Ecklie was being just as stubborn as could expected, and wasn't about to budge.

Gil had explained the suspension to the rest of the team, but hadn't gone so far as to tell them about the required therapy. He didn't see any need to, and felt as though he was violating Nick's privacy by simply being privy to the fact he was seeing the doctor again. He didn't want to commit any further violation, and didn't want to betray Nick's trust, if there was any left, so he was doing a good thing by staying out of everyone's way, not talking to them about it.

They could say what they wanted to about him. They could shoot him all of the looks they wanted. But no matter what, it wasn't his fault, and he wasn't hiding.

* * *

"He's hiding in there."

Catherine looked over at Sara and nodded. "I know."

They were idling around the DNA lab for two reasons; they were waiting for some test results from a nail scraping from their latest customer, and although that would take hours they hung around because the lab had an unobstructed view into Grissom's office. But the door had been closed for days now, and all they could do was stand at the counter and try to see in through the small window.

"Have you talked to Nick?"

Catherine's eyes ticked over again. "No." And back to the window. "You?"

"No." There was something in Sara's voice, like she wanted to say something more, or at least wanted Catherine to say something more.

Catherine sighed. "I'll bite. What's up?"

"I wish he'd pick up his phone."

"We all do, Sara." Catherine straightened and eyed the other woman appraisingly. "I thought you guys were fighting."

"You know how it is," Sara said, shifting uncomfortably. "You get mad, you yell, and then you cool down and just feel…"

"Stupid?"

Sara shook her head at Catherine's bluntness. But it was the truth, and they both knew it. "Yeah. Stupid."

A wave of guilt washed over Catherine. She sighed and propped an elbow on the counter, cradling her chin with her palm. "I know the feeling."

There was a pause. Sara looked at her hands. "Catherine, Nick wasn't the only one I said things to…"

Catherine shook her head. "Hey, don't worry about it, I deserved it. I think I gave him that final little nudge over the edge."

Save gave the floor a small smile. "I think it was a joint effort."

"Go team."

* * *

Nick had expected to feel a lot of things over the past couple of days, but he'd never anticipated this particular feeling.

He was bored. Flat out, downright, going stir crazy _bored_. The previous day had been spent cleaning out his pantry, where he'd uncovered a very questionable-looking jar of salsa. On the agenda for the morning was to tackle and rearrange his closet. Over the past few months, he'd grown lazier and lazier, little by little, and was currently more or less tossing clothes into a pile when he went to bed. Organization wasn't on his list of priorities. Now he was looking for any distraction, anything to keep his mind occupied and off of other, more bothersome things.

He thought about calling Warrick. For possibly the two hundredth time, he thought about calling Warrick. But calling Warrick would open up a whole new can of crap for him to sort through and in this instance he would rather sort through his closet. This way, he could sit around in a blissful, ignorant state, ignoring the problems still to be faced.

Besides, he had another session with the doc in the afternoon, and why waste the headache now, when he was sure to have one in about five and a half hours.

* * *

Nick walked back into Doctor Bruning's office with slightly lighter steps than he had previously. He'd left the last time feeling, honestly, a little crappy, still frustrated, and annoyed he was being forced to tell these things to someone who, in essence, didn't matter or affect the results. At the same time, it did feel good to get some things off of his chest, it not out of his system. He felt as though he'd undergone some serious, and seriously overdue, purging the past couple of days. The anger he'd been harboring was finally starting to fade, replaced with the next logical feeling in line, resentment.

He walked into the waiting room and put his name in with the receptionist. The perky, petite blonde told him the doctor was just finishing up with another patient and would be with him momentarily. He nodded and took a seat on a pastel colored couch and thumbed through an outdated _Sports Illustrated_. His leg jiggled nervously, and he found himself glancing at his watch. He held it up to his ear to hear the faint ticking, and when he'd satisfied himself the watch was still working, he sighed and returned his attention to the magazine. His eyes ticked to the clock over the receptionist's station and he leaned his head back. He wasn't sure why he was feeling so tense all of a sudden, but nervousness had taken up residence in the pit of his stomach.

It was the waiting. Waiting of any kind made him nervous. He much preferred to keep moving around than sitting still for extended periods of time, the reason he so often found himself pacing in his living room these days. He couldn't very well pace in the waiting room, and sighed in relief as muffled voices became clearer as the speakers moved closer to the closed door, closing the magazine. His ears were quicker than his eyes, hearing not one, but two familiar voices.

As Warrick came through the door ahead of the doctor, Nick had never before, even when he was eleven and knocked a baseball right through the kitchen window while his mom was washing dishes, wished to be more invisible.

_What in the hell?_ Nick sank into his seat and reopened the magazine, lifting it to hide his face. He was just a split-second too slow, and he felt more than saw the sizeable shadow of Warrick Brown looming over him.

Nick raised his eyes and lowered the magazine back to his lap. He smiled widely, though he felt a blush of shame rise in his cheeks. "Hey, Warrick."

Warrick was obviously surprised to see him there. This was a small mercy, Nick supposed; at least Grissom and Ecklie hadn't told the rest of the team about the therapy sessions he was once again relegated to. "Nick," he said, and seemed to be unable to form another word.

Nick understood the feeling. The two stared at each other uncomfortably, mouths opening and closing in failed attempts at explanations or excuses, further proof of the rift in their once rock-solid friendship. They didn't know how to be around each other.

"Mr. Brown?" The receptionist's voice not so much floated through the silence but crashed its way into Nick's eardrums. "We need to set up your next appointment." She was speaking softly, but her words smacked Nick in the face, seemed to jerk Warrick's head back.

"Yeah." He turned back to Nick, and the look on his face had to be a mirror image of the embarrassment Nick was feeling himself. "Yeah."

"Mr. Stokes?"

Scratch that. Nick was positive he was now winning the shame war. His ears burned as he stood and scooted past Warrick who, although acknowledging he was needed at the receptionist's desk, was remarkably still.

"I'll, uh, I'll see ya," Nick mumbled, and took long strides to cross the room as quickly as possible. He practically shoved past the doctor and into her office, not missing the appraising, analytical look on her face.

Nick's mind was racing as he crossed the threshold. Doctor Bruning knew all about him, more than he was comfortable with, and that meant she knew who Warrick was. Nick might not have talked much with the doctor, but when he did, he'd talked enough about Warrick. And now she'd scheduled them snug up against each other. She'd done this on purpose.

As soon as the door clicked shut behind him, Nick threw his arms out. "I don't even…" he began, before finding himself at a loss for words. His eyes widened impossibly, almost painfully huge and he fumbled for a moment. "That was just so…unprofessional," he finished lamely, glaring accusingly at the doctor.

"Excuse me?" Doctor Bruning asked, with something of an amused expression.

Nick's eyes narrowed and he put his hands on his hips. "What about the patient-doctor privilege?" He wasn't suggesting malpractice; it was just the only thing he could think of.

"I didn't say a word, did I?"

"No," Nick said, growing increasingly frustrated with her amused tone. "You didn't have to!"

Doctor Bruning raised her eyebrows and gave him a pointed look, casually sliding her hands into her pockets.

Nick frowned as the look sunk in, and then he nodded slowly. "No," he said, much softer. "You didn't have to."

"I think," Bruning said, moving across the office to her desk, "that there are a few different ways you can approach this." She leaned casually on the edge.

Nick stood in the middle of the room, shaking his head slowly. This was the strangest therapy he'd ever been subjected to, but he couldn't argue that she'd made her point. "You think I should talk to Warrick."

Cock of the head. No matter who it was coming from, he hated the cock of the head. "I think it's a start," she said.

Nick wanted to laugh. He could try to explain, could talk all hour, could talk for three straight weeks, but it wouldn't matter. She had no idea what was going on with him and his friends.

_Easier said than done, Doc, _he thought. _Much, much easier._

* * *

To be continued...


	11. Tricks and Traps

_Chapter Eleven: Tricks and Traps_

Warrick's appointment, at the suggestion of the brilliant doctor, had been scheduled for a block of time she'd had open right before he told her he was due in for work. He was going in a few hours early for the next couple of days to help pick up the extra lab work spilling over since Nick's suspension. The appointment time had seemed convenient and efficient, and not suspiciously so. He should have been smarter than that.

Warrick was humiliated. Not just because Nick had seen him in the office, but because he'd been so easily manipulated. However, from the look on Nick's face, he hadn't been the only one.

"Why don't you come in right before your shift," Warrick muttered bitterly to himself in a high, mocking tone. He shook his head. No wonder she'd been so eager to set the appointment. "Idiot."

He tightened his grip on the steering wheel as he braked to a stop at a red light, as opposed to punching a fist at it. How were these games helping Nick?

Suddenly, his fingers fell limp around the wheel. _Nick._ That was Nick at the doctor's office. Not a doctor; a shrink. Warrick brought up a hand and rubbed his forehead vigorously, almost punishingly.

He was a fool for thinking they could possibly be past this. They were all fools. He was relieved Nick was getting help if he needed it, but this experience was just one more stab to the gut because he hadn't known about it. He might have been fooled, but he wasn't a moron. He understood what the doctor had been trying to do, the message she was trying to get across, the pointed look she'd given him over Nick's shoulder as he rushed past her.

_Hoooonnnnk!_

Warrick's ears perked and he glanced in the rearview mirror at the honker behind him. How long had the light been green? He pressed the gas pedal and hurried through the intersection. _Sorry, buddy._

Nick had told her about them; that was the only explanation. That woman, to the best of Warrick's knowledge, was not a mind-reader. Nick had gone into that very room, sat on that very couch, and told her their story. Nick's story, sure, but it was Warrick's, too. For her to feel that stepping in was necessary and to involve him specifically, Nick had to have talked about more than what had transpired in the lab. He'd seemed the most upset with Catherine and Grissom, so Warrick didn't understand why _they _weren't being tricked by a tiny brunette with a post-graduate degree. Only if Nick used specific names, and specifically used Warrick's.

For every new rising and warring emotion, Warrick felt more and more hypocritical, and he sighed, feeling hurt. Here was Nick, his best friend, storming out on them and confiding in a complete stranger. Nick was supposed to storm out and confide in him. Pizza and beer and whatever version of a heart-to-heart it was they had as grown men, and then it was on with another day. It had happened before. Warrick was hurt at the thought it might not happen again.

Warrick squinted as he was hit with a twinge of anger he knew it was irrational, but he just couldn't help it. It was the adult male in him that was put off that his friend had been talking about their problems with a stranger instead of coming to him to resolve them. He'd essentially been in to see the doc to do the same thing, sure, and that was what was irrational.

He tried to reason with himself; they hadn't really ended up talking about Nick at all.

* * *

"It's Warrick, right?"

He nodded, shifting his weight uncomfortably in the middle of the neutrally colored office as she shut the door. He hadn't ever really been in therapy before, and wasn't sure what was expected of him. The petite doctor smiled warmly and extended a hand, which he shook. "Hi."

She gestured to an inviting looking brown leather sofa. "Why don't you take a seat, and we'll get started."

Warrick slapped his hands on his thighs and lowered himself onto the plush fabric. He bounced his leg and fidgeted until he was in an optimally comfortable position.

Doctor Bruning settled into a chair across from him, folding her hands and resting them on a legal pad in her lap. "What brings you in to see me?"

Warrick bobbed his head. _Getting down to business_, he thought. He couldn't very well tell her that this whole thing was his wife's idea, and not his. He wasn't going to lie, either. "Work problems, I guess."

She nodded with a small smile and made a note on her pad.

Warrick felt stupid. _Work problems?_ She was the department shrink, for crying out loud. Of course he was there for work problems. _You're a genius, man._

"Well, you look to be a pretty put-together guy," she said, looking up from the pad with another smile. "What's on your mind?"

"How much time do you have?"

She laughed lightly, but Warrick got the impression it was more out of politeness than his stunning sense of humor.

He sighed deeply. "We're just having a problem getting back in the groove." _Like that's going to make any sense to her, dumbass._

"'We'?"

Warrick leaned forward and rubbed his face. "Yeah, my team. I'm not a cop, not really. CSI."

She raised her eyebrows and made another note. She nodded, encouraging him to continue.

Warrick looked at his hands. He found it easier to talk when he wasn't looking at her. "Something happened a few months back. Something…bad, and we've never really recovered."

He was very fascinated with his hands, mostly because he didn't want to look up and face that Doctor Look. He was being purposefully vague. Strangers weren't for getting so personal, regardless of the degree on their wall; that's why they were strangers.

"Have you talked about it?"

"Me? Oh, all of us – no." He shook his head. "Just kind of hoped it would, I don't know, go away if we ignored it."

"How's that working out?"

Warrick barked out a small laugh. "It's not. Really, really not."

Another kind smile and, for some reason, another note on the pad. "No, I didn't figure it had, seeing as how you're sitting here with me."

Warrick raised his eyebrows. "You're very perceptive."

"You're very avoidant."

Warrick had to laugh again. He liked her style, and found himself relaxing against his will. The doc was doing her job. "That's what our problem is. Everyone avoids it."

"And what is 'it'?" She even used finger-quotes, perhaps to illustrate how ridiculous this avoiding thing was getting.

Warrick paused. This was the reason Tina had given him her number. This was why he was here. And still, he couldn't follow through. "A nightmare," he said.

Doctor Bruning shook her head. "If you're not going to talk to me, and I mean _really _talk to me, then isn't this all a waste of your time? Not to mention my time." Though her words were harsh, her voice still carried that light tone.

"It's just…hard." He swallowed. "We haven't really talked about it, so it's hard."

"I know. We can start slow. Lay some groundwork today, get some background going, and then maybe next week we can – "

"Next week?" Warrick's head shot up. He had kind of thought of this as a one-time deal.

"I'm thinking weekly sessions," the doctor said. She cocked her head. "You didn't think we could get everything sorted out in an hour, did you?"

Warrick shrugged. "Guess I didn't think that far ahead."

That kind smile. Or maybe it was the smile of the sane looking down on one who was much less fortunate in the mental health department. "For today, let's just talk about you. Tell me about yourself, and we'll get into the 'far ahead' at a later date."

So he did. Warrick talked about himself for the next forty-seven minutes. He talked about his childhood, even his first pet, a golden retriever he'd named Dog. He talked about high school, the Little Land of Nerdiness he'd ruled over for four years. He talked about college, about "finding" himself and his own little corner of the world. He talked about the gambling, and about the work problems of the past. Holly Gribbs and butting heads with Sara when she first came to work with them in the lab. He talked about Tina.

He smiled and shook his head. "She's kind of the reason I'm here," he admitted.

"Well, I'm glad she got you in the door." Doctor Bruning glanced at her watch. "Well, that's the hour."

Warrick looked up again. "Really?"

"Yep. So, do you think you want to come back next week?"

Warrick was a bit surprised to find himself nodding. He actually felt better. They hadn't even gotten into the good stuff, and he already felt as though a weight had been lifted. "Yeah, I do."

"Okay. Great. I've got big plans for our next session." With a strange smile, the brunette stood and offered her hand to Warrick once more. "It was really nice to meet you."

Warrick shook her hand with more enthusiasm than the first time. "Nice to meet you, too."

She gestured to the door. "Just set up an appointment with Shelley," she said as they moved across the room. "She'll take care of you." She reached to open the door.

"Thank you," Warrick said.

He stepped out into the waiting room, and his heart and pride jumped simultaneously into his throat.

_Nick._

* * *

Nick.

Nick had talked about them, enough for the good doctor to feel it was her place to step in and stir the pot. Not like they didn't already have enough to deal with. One thing was for sure, Warrick could no longer say he liked her style.

Warrick squinted. _The doctor._ Most of the surprise of seeing Nick in that waiting room, waiting to see the doctor, had stemmed from the fact Warrick _knew_ Nick. Nick was stubborn, defiant, determined, and would rather let his emotions and problems eat him up from the inside out before going to anyone for help, and the last few weeks were proof of that. Something had finally driven Nick to the point of seeking professional help, and it couldn't have simply been the fight in the lab. Nick was like Warrick, and Warrick had needed Tina to get him into that office. Nick must have needed someone to get him there, as well.

As Warrick swung into his parking spot, his eyes were trained on the façade of the crime lab. The lab. The suspension. _Ecklie._

Warrick shut off the truck and nodded slowly to himself. Ecklie had sent Nick in. It was probably the reason his suspension was lasting so long, and why Grissom hadn't told them how long it was going to be. _"At least a week."_

Warrick frowned as another light bulb flicked on his head. Grissom.

Grissom had said, "At least a week." Grissom knew, and he didn't tell them. Didn't tell _him._

Warrick ripped the key from the ignition and stomped his way through the parking lot and towards the building. He didn't go to the locker room to change for shift, he went straight to the elevators. As soon as he stepped out of the sliding doors he spotted Catherine and Sara standing near the DNA lab. It looked as though they were all in early tonight. Well, if they were here, so was the man, himself.

"Cath," Warrick called, crossing the distance in quick strides. "Where's Grissom?"

He held up a hand before either woman could respond. "Let me guess," he said drily, jerking his head in the direction of the supervisor's office.

Catherine nodded. "He was in there when we got here, about…" She glanced at her watch, but Warrick had already started walking away.

"What was that about?" Sara asked.

"Who even knows anymore," was the exasperated response.

He would explain later. Not in full, of course, but he would make some kind of excuse for his rudeness. He stopped at the door long enough to knock once, tightly, before letting himself in.

"Gris, we need to talk."

* * *

It was his home base.

Gil had started rationalizing with himself over why he was spending so much time in his office. Because he knew he was going to have to explain at some point. It wasn't just a couple of hours he'd been holed away, but days now, stretching on towards a week's worth of free time he'd spent behind that closed door, seemingly without explanation.

It was his home base, where he could operate fully and, with remarkable ease, accomplish nearly whatever he needed to without traipsing all over the lab. It turned out he could call, even conference from his phone, the one with all the buttons he'd never taken the time to figure out. He could email, and have printouts either emailed to him or delivered to his office, which had worked out perfectly until Catherine started intercepting these printouts to gain entry. Gil was now realizing how convenient, and not necessarily as annoying as he'd previously thought, email could be.

It was his sanctuary. There had been very few instances during which he'd been made to feel uncomfortable in his own office. It was usually the visitor who felt uncomfortable, staring twitchingly into the dozens of buggy eyes watching him. Wincing at the fetal pig in the jar. Like Ecklie, chuckling nervously at the terrariums. Out there, and especially now, Gil would not only feel uncomfortable, but out of place. Everyone's emotions seemed to be running at an unhealthy and unprofessional levels, and wasn't anything Gil could relate to. He felt an odd pang here and there as Sara walked by, giving him that look, but it was nothing compared to what the others were feeling.

He felt one such pang as there was a knock at the door and it opened before he could respond. Gil's brain sometimes worked faster than even he was aware, and as soon as that door started to open he knew it was one of them, because if it had been a lab tech running a message they would have waited for a response. His team didn't wait, they barged in.

Like Warrick was barging in now. "Gris, we need to talk."

Gil sat back, eyed wide in surprise. He suddenly wished he had legitimate work that he could use as an excuse, but the others seemed to be getting everything done for him. That could hardly be a coincidence. "Sure, Warrick."

Warrick had been a key advocate for the "Avoiding Gil Grissom" campaign since the news of Nick's suspension. He didn't talk to Gil in rundowns or at scenes, though he did do plenty of glaring. Warrick randomly popping in for a chat was just that, random. With plenty of caution, Gil gestured for him to take a seat.

Warrick didn't sit. He stood just beyond the edge of the desk separating them, and Gil noticed his fists were balled. "Did you know?"

Gil frowned. "Did I know what, Warrick?"

Warrick laughed shortly, shaking his head. "Do you know where Nick was today?" he asked, more forcefully.

Gil's mouth dropped open in a small 'o.' This was precisely why he hadn't divulged this information to his team – the inevitable overreaction.

Beyond Warrick's looming form, Gil could see the door to his office was still standing open, and he made a motion for Warrick to shut it. The other man complied then returned to his post.

"I'll take that as a 'yes'," he said tightly, crossing his arms.

"Yes, Warrick," Gil supplied after a moment's pause. "I knew. I know. It was part of Ecklie's requirements for Nick to come back to work."

Warrick frowned. "This is my boy, Grissom," he said, placing his hands on his hips. "I thought we had an understanding."

It was obvious Warrick was upset, but Gil didn't know how to make the other man understand where he was coming from, not when he was in this kind of mood. "We do, but this is a different situation than we discussed."

"How?"

Gil sighed patiently. "Warrick, there's a difference between telling you if Nick has a slip-up in the lab and telling you if he's speaking to a therapist. It wouldn't have been right for me to tell you."

Warrick's eyes narrowed. "I'd have told you."

Gil cocked an eyebrow. "You and I both know that's not true, and if it is, then you would have been wrong to do so."

"Say whatever you want, man. We talked about this. You were supposed to tell me if you knew anything."

Gil rubbed his temple. This short conversation was already leaving a throbbing pulse in his head. "I didn't feel this was one of the things that – "

"No, Grissom, you can't just randomly place restrictions on 'anything.' If you knew _anything_ you were supposed to _tell_ me." Warrick stood defiant.

Though he was Warrick's boss, Gil knew better than to challenge what information he was and wasn't supposed to share with the man. It was a special circumstance. He sat silently, waiting for Warrick to finish.

"This is big, Grissom, don't you get that? Don't you get what this is doing to everyone, and you can't even be straight with us?"

"I'm being straight with you now, Warrick," Gil responded, hearing the testiness in his own voice. "I was protecting Nick's interests, in this instance. What good would have come from you knowing?"

Warrick's eyes took on a different look. "Well, we might have tried a little harder to get a hold of him, instead of giving him space."

Gil was hearing Warrick, but thinking at the same time, and his eyes shot up to lock on Warrick's over the rim of his glasses. "How did you know?"

Warrick's shoulders slumped slightly, and his face slackened. "What?"

"Doctor Bruning. How did you find out?"

It was a momentary falter, and then Warrick regained some of his composure. "That's not important."

_Who's not sharing things now?_ Gil decided to use this opportunity to teach Warrick a small lesson. He respected the other man's privacy and dropped the subject, though he was innately curious. He nodded slowly.

Warrick's defiance was leaking away little by little, and his face had taken on a worried look. After a moment he sank slowly into the chair he'd initially refused. "So what's the deal?"

Gil sat back in his chair. "Ecklie's not going to let him back to work until he's spoken with the doctor and is satisfied with what she has to say about Nick's condition." He squinted as he said the word.

Warrick frowned. "What does Ecklie care?"

Gil still didn't have an answer to that question. He shook his head.

"Hell," Warrick said, rubbing a hand over his face. "If Conrad Ecklie cares, then it really is bad." He straightened. "Is it bad, Gris?"

Gil was amazed. The man had only moments ago been ready for a fight and was now looking to him for answers. Answers Gil wasn't sure he had. And then it hit him. He _didn't_ have answers, because he didn't know. He hadn't tried. His home base, his sanctuary…his office was none of these things. It really was a hideout. As long as he was inside these walls, he could pretend everything was fine. And the most nauseating realization of all – Catherine had been right, about everything.

* * *

Nick was stressed out, working on wearing down that path in his living room rug, walking back and forth in front of the couch, chewing his thumbnail to a ragged stump. Every couple of minutes his eyes would tick over his cell phone, squinting to read the face, making sure he hadn't missed a call.

Would he miss a call? Would Warrick call, or should he? The whole waiting room thing had been setting up the both of them, so in theory, Warrick could be expected to make the first move just as much as he. But would he?

Nick continued to pace and gnaw on his nail until his teeth met the skin of his finger, then he locked his hands behind his neck and sighed. Being nervous and stressed out wasn't going to produce any positive result. He was only going to get himself worked up.

For the hundredth time, he made the turn when Nick reached the far wall and started back toward the center of the room. The glare from the setting sun sliced at his eyes and he winced. It was late afternoon. Early evening. If anyone was going into work early, and they usually did when a team member was off, and Nick had been off for several days, they would be in the lab by now.

Warrick would probably be there. Nick could call. He could, but he didn't want to bother Warrick at work. That seemed perfectly plausible. He didn't want to bother him at work.

Resigned, Nick turned and resumed his pacing.

After only four steps, his cell phone rang.

* * *

To be continued...


	12. When I Go Down

_Chapter Twelve: When I Go Down_

_I'll tell you flat out, it hurts so much to think of this_

_So from my thoughts I will exclude_

_The very thing that I hate more than everything else –_

_The way I'm powerless to dictate my own moods_

_I've thrown away so many things that could have been much more_

_And I just pray my problems go away if they're ignored_

_But that's not the way it works_

_No, that's not the way it works_

The phone rang four times, and then Nick's voicemail sounded. Grissom looked up and met Warrick's eyes. He shook his head.

_Damn it._ Warrick stood, placing his hands on his hips. "Maybe I should have called."

Grissom recoiled slightly, pulling his cell phone away from his ear and disconnecting the call. "You think he doesn't want to talk to me."

Warrick bit back a retort. _Of course he doesn't want to talk to you,_ he wanted to say. Instead, he wordlessly pulled his own phone from the clip on his belt. He held down the number to speed-dial Nick, immediately interrupted by the opening of Grissom's office door.

"Mr. Grissom?" Archie said, stepping into the room. His eyes fell on Warrick and his mouth dropped open a bit. "Oh, I can come back later…"

"What is it, Archie?" Grissom inquired.

Archie smiled nervously, shifting his weight in the doorway. "It's just…something about…that thing. That you, we, were working on." The man's gaze was sharp, like he was trying to get a message to Grissom telepathically.

Warrick frowned. He didn't like being out of the loop, something he thought he'd just explained to the man.

Grissom raised his eyebrows and allowed a ghost of a smile for the A/V tech. "Yeah, Archie, why don't you come back later."

"Okay." Archie smiled tightly at Warrick and ducked quickly out of the room, shutting the door behind him.

Warrick looked to Grissom with the same frown, again bringing his phone to his ear. "What was that about?"

Grissom seemed to have forgotten Warrick was in the room, eyes taking on a faraway look uncharacteristic to the usually stoic man. He looked up sharply, and waved a hand in a dismissive manner. "Nothing. Just something I've been working on."

There was more to it than that; Warrick wasn't a kickass crime scene investigator because he accepted people's words at face value. There was always something more, always a hidden meaning, and he was definitely getting one of those vibes from the boss. Grissom was hiding something; but then again, what else was new?

Warrick shook his head and glared at the backside of Grissom's office door as he listened to the ringing on the other end of the line. He was silently rehearsing the message he was going to leave on Nick's voicemail, as it would inevitable be the only version of his friend's voice he would be hearing.

"_Hello?"_

Warrick's mouth fell open, struggling with a response. "Nick, man, what's up?"

"_Not much. Pretty bored."_

Warrick was taken aback by the casualty of Nick's tone. He didn't hear any of the stammer he heard in his own words. "Well, I…_we_ were just wondering how you were doing. Haven't heard from ya in a few days."

"_Not too bad."_

Warrick had put the emphasis on the word 'we,' hoping to convey that he was with Grissom and knew the older man had just tried to reach him. If Nick noticed, he ignored it like the pro he was. He heard a throat being cleared behind him and he turned to address Grissom, looking into those unexpectedly wide, hopeful eyes, and shook his head.

"That's good to hear, man," he said into the phone.

Grissom looked down and nodded.

Warrick cocked his head sympathetically, feeling the need to take the conversation elsewhere. There was shit to be worked out between him and Nick, sure, but at least Nick was talking to him. He wouldn't even answer the phone for Grissom, and Warrick felt that talking to him in front of Gris was like rubbing salt into an open wound. Not to mention the fact he might have to say something that would tip Grissom off to exactly how he'd found out about Nick's revisited therapy, and he just had too much on his plate right now to deal with that, as well.

Warrick gestured that he was going to move out into the hallway. Grissom looked at him blankly for a moment and then nodded halfheartedly.

Warrick felt for the guy. He opened the door and took a few tentative steps down the hallway, not wanting the others to discover he'd finally gotten Nick on the phone or the conversation would dissolve into a battle for control of the cell. He ducked his head into a small workroom to his right and upon finding it empty, entered quickly and sank into a chair.

Nick had remained silent on his end for a long enough period of time for Warrick to feel uncomfortable. It was as though neither of them really knew where to go from there.

"_The other day was kind of crazy, huh?"_

Warrick laughed lightly, though the thickness of Nick's accent, the frustration and emotion of it, grounded him to the fact the situation wasn't as light as they were treating it. "Yeah, it was."

Nick cleared his throat but didn't speak.

Warrick fidgeted at the warm feeling of anger raising its ugly head again. He wanted Nick to speak, because he'd started this whole thing when he opened his mouth to the shrink and in his opinion, Nick should finish it. That was their homework.

Another moment's pause told Warrick that Nick wasn't ready yet. He sighed, but played the role of the good friend. "So when's she springing you?"

Another pause. The role of the friend with a little snark on top. _Yup, buddy, I know about Ecklie's arrangement with the doc. Crack. Call me on it. Tell me to mind my own business._ Warrick sent a barrage of silent pleas through the phone line, all them falling on seemingly deaf ears.

"_Any day, man."_

Warrick squeezed his hand into a fist to keep from pounding it on the tabletop. _Shit, Nicky. Nick. What did we do to you?_ "That's great." He swallowed. "We're missin' you around here."

Nick chuckled softly, but with a manner Warrick wasn't sure he understood. There was a dark undertone to the light sound, like it wasn't really light at all; a world of stress was in the small sound.

"_Shouldn't be too much longer."_

It did not escape Warrick's attention that Nick didn't say anything about missing them in return. Maybe he didn't. Maybe he was happier they weren't around; it would explain a lot. Like why he hadn't called any of them, or picked up when them called him. Like why he seemed content to never speak to Gris again.

"That's great," Warrick repeated hollowly, fingernails digging into his palm.

"_Well, I better get going. Got a jam-packed night."_

Nick's words were laced almost as heavily with sarcasm as they were with that Texan accent. Warrick nodded, and then remembered Nick couldn't see the gesture through the phone. "Aight, man," he said. "You get your ass back in here soon."

"_Aye, aye, captain."_

It wasn't spoken humorously; if possible, it was even more sarcastic than his previous comment. Warrick was growing so frustrated he feared he was going to throw his phone unless he ended the conversation immediately.

He opened his mouth to say 'bye' and was cut off with a click. He pulled the phone away from his ear and looked at the screen of his cell. 'Call ended,' it told him.

Warrick shook his head. _Call's not the only thing ending, _he thought bitterly.

* * *

Catherine's head suddenly materialized in the doorway. "Grissom said you got Nick on the phone." Her eyes darted immediately to the device in his hand and Warrick was slightly alarmed she was going to pounce and wrench it from his fingers.

He wasn't entirely sure what it was causing him to shake his head but there he was, shaking it. "No," he lied.

Catherine frowned. "But Grissom said – "

"No," Warrick repeated, setting the phone aside on the table.

Catherine deepening frown betrayed that she didn't care for his testiness. "Sorry," she said, a little testy, herself. She tapped her fingers on the doorframe, studying him for a moment.

Warrick wondered if she was going to call him out. But just like Nick, she let it sit there, and pulled back into the hallway. He heard her heels clicking away in a fast, irritated rhythm.

Warrick stared at the wall and sighed, a heavy feeling settling in the pit of his stomach. It wasn't bitterness, after all; it was sadness.

* * *

Nick was learning new things about himself every day. Today's lesson: he was very easily agitated when stressed out and running on nearly no human contact for several days. Nick resumed his pacing, completing a few laps before he felt like a crazy person, like his living room walls should be padded. He came to an abrupt stop in front of his couch and simply fell back onto it. He sat stiffly, idly playing with the edge of the cushion.

He wasn't exactly sure what it was Warrick said that had set him off, but he'd found himself shooting off sarcastic comments before he even knew it was happening. The whole point of talking to Warrick was to manufacture a start to heading towards making things better, and all he'd succeeded in doing was making the divide between them even wider. Defense mechanism, maybe. Hopefully. Whatever it was, the doc was not going to happy with him. Which meant Nick wasn't going to be getting back to work; not tomorrow, at any rate.

Not that Nick wanted to get back to work tomorrow, because that would mean seeing Grissom, and the thought just served to anger him. Nick's analytical brain reasoned with his roiling emotions, telling him that he was, in essence, mad at Grissom for doing the same thing that he was doing, himself: avoiding everything.

He knew there were things that needed to be addressed, needed to be resolved, and there had been for months. Nick was so stuck in the mindset of ignoring his problems until he didn't think about them anymore that he was doing it now without any effort. It just happened. He didn't know how to deal with things. He didn't know how to talk to Grissom, and wasn't really sure that he really ever had. It seemed every conversation between the two of them had either consisted of Nick being scolded like a child or Nick attempting to stand up to Gris, only to still ending up feeling like he was being scolded.

Nick would give anything to be scolded right now, just to get a sense of emotion from the man. Grissom just seemed to stare through him these days and Nick had had a progressively growing feeling over the past month or so that Grissom wasn't telling him something. _How do you think _they_ feel, Nicky boy?_

_Don't call me that, _Nick responded to the voice in his head.

He didn't know how to articulate the things he wanted to say to Grissom. This contributed a decent amount to the reason he hadn't answered the phone when he saw it was his boss calling. He was afraid he would misinterpret, misunderstand, and overreact. He stupidly thought talking to Warrick would be easier, even after taking into account the surprise encounter at the shrink's office. Warrick was his best bud and he was supposed to be able to talk to him.

The shrill ring of the landline interrupted his thoughts, the sound growing more and more annoying each time it sounded. Nick grabbed the cordless unit from the side table and checked the call ID. It was a local number, one he recognized but couldn't immediately place. "Hello?"

"_Hi, Mr. Stokes? It's Shelley, from Dr. Bruning's office. She wanted to know of you could come in tomorrow afternoon at two o'clock."_

Nick chewed his lip for a moment. Now they were calling him at home to come in. He wondered if it was another setup. Maybe something worse, like Warrick hiding in the room, behind the curtains, ready to spring out when Nick was out at his most vulnerable. Or worse, Grissom.

His boredom trumped his doubts in regard to the doctor and her plans, because he wanted to get back into the lab as soon as possible. "Yeah," Nick said, somewhat hesitantly. "Yeah, that's fine."

"_Great. I'll put you down. Tomorrow at two."_

"Great." Nick hung up and tossed the phone onto the couch, still feeling doubtful and nervous about going into that office again. That was it; the last time he answered the phone. Home or cell.

Answering the phone brought nothing but problems.

* * *

"What'd he say?"

Catherine looked into Sara's anxious eyes and shook her head. "He said he didn't talk to him."

Sara's eyes screwed up in confusion, and she held a hand out in the direction of Grissom's office. "But I thought…" She turned in the direction she was pointing, hoping to see the supervisor still standing at the threshold, but the open doorway was empty. He'd moved down the hall; not back into his office, which was both a relief and cause for concern at the same time.

She frowned, agitated. "Did they talk to him or not?"

Catherine shrugged and rolled her eyes. "I guess not."

Sara didn't buy it, either. "Then why would Grissom say they did?"

Catherine cracked a small smile. "Maybe he's finally lost it, and hallucinated the whole thing."

Sara cocked her head. "It's not funny, Catherine."

Catherine sighed. "I know. Just trying to keep myself from going crazy."

"If you find something that works, let me know."

* * *

Gil had started to move down the hall, but hadn't made it far enough not to hear what Sara and Catherine were saying.

"Maybe he's finally lost it, and hallucinated the whole thing."

_Ha, ha, Catherine_, he thought, picking up his pace. While he didn't appreciate their talking and joking about him behind his back, he guessed he deserved it. But while the conversation Warrick had on the phone with Nick hadn't been a hallucination, he didn't entirely understand why he'd told the others it hadn't happened.

Gil passed the print lab and saw a note on Jacqui's desk that she was taking a coffee break, and he took advantage of the empty room to collect his thoughts. His office felt somewhat tainted now.

He leaned back against the wall, grateful he could no longer hear Catherine and Sara's chattering voices, and closed his eyes. He couldn't understand why if Warrick had spoken to Nick he'd told them otherwise. A wave of guilt washed over him and he suddenly felt responsible for the collective avoidance and lying going on within his team. He didn't even know what kind of a team they were anymore. Professionally, of course, but outside of that; they were supposed to be there for each other, to open up to each other about anything, work-related or not.

Gil was the problem, he was sure of that. All of that time in his office, avoiding, ignoring, pretending things and people could and would fix themselves. In his home base, his sanctuary. He'd been setting quite the example for his colleagues. His _friends._ The closest ones he'd ever had, and the only ones he really had right now. If in fact he still had them.

And there was that other thing. The really important thing, weighing so heavily on his mind it was taking the place of gravity, rooting him to the ground.

Nick had answered when Warrick called. For the first time in days, Nick had answered the phone. When _Warrick _called. He hadn't answered when Gil called, though it had been only moments before.

"Mr. Grissom?"

He didn't even open his eyes. "Archie, you don't need to call me that."

"Sorry…Grissom."

"Did you need something?"

"Yeah, remember?" He heard the tech let out a slow breath, evidence of his discomfort with the situation he'd found himself in. "It's about the tape."

Gil's eyes flew open as he pulled himself off of the wall, staring at the A/V tech. He had such a conflict of thoughts and preoccupations in his mind, he'd completely forgotten Archie's previous visit.

His gaze must have communicated this to the other man, because he took a step back. "I can wait in the A/V lab," Archie said softly.

Gil nodded. The tech left the room, and he leaned back against the wall and sighed. He had no idea how he was supposed to make things up to Nick while he continued to keep more and more from him by the day. He was supposed to the one with all of the answer, and at the moment he'd never felt so clueless in his entire life.

* * *

Not in the mood to go out, Nick spent another night of quality time with his DVD player, watching a mini-marathon of movies he hadn't seen in years. He wasn't necessarily in the mood to lounge in his living room like a bum, again, but also didn't feel up to doing anything more strenuous. Or social.

Nick put the next disc into the player and flopped back onto the couch. He'd finally sent in the check to take care of that pesky overdue cable bill, but after channel-surfing for a few minutes realized that was all he was going to do. His only other companions for the night were a six-pack of tall boys and the extra pepperoni pizza he'd ordered.

To compliment his mood, he opted for movies full of machine guns and explosions, settling on the _Die Hard_ trilogy. He wasn't even halfway through the original film before realizing he wasn't even paying attention, had been staring blankly at the screen.

Nick drained the last of his second beer and, sighing, turned off the television. It was only eleven-thirty, but he gathered the remains of the pizza, put the box in the fridge, and headed to bed, feeling like an old man. He should have been getting started on a new case, not hitting the sack so damned early. He shouldn't even be tired now; he was used to being at work. He was already getting into the groove of going to bed at night, instead of in the morning, and found even this was annoying him. Something else messing with his mind.

Nick hit the lights and threw his head back against his pillow with a sigh, with the same thoughts he'd gone to bed with every other night that week: how great it would be if he could just wake up and everything would have righted itself.

This was just wishful thinking, of course, because all he had to look forward to the next day was that appointment with the shrink, and he wasn't exactly looking forward to it. Upon waking, much too early, the thought immediately plunged him into a sour mood with a complimentary headache like the cherry on top of this unappetizing sundae.

Sitting in the waiting room that afternoon was no better than it'd been before. Nick cast nervous glances at the door every time it opened, but it was just a parade of nuts waiting to have their brains prodded by one of the resident brain-prodders.

It seemed an eternity before his name was finally called, and like each time before, his ears burned with embarrassment at having it confirmed out loud that he was there, and there for therapy. As soon as he brushed past the doctor and into the office, his eyes roamed every corner, searching for hidden CSIs. Satisfied that they were alone in the room, he stepped further inside.

"Sorry," Nick said drily, ignoring the appraising look he was under and taking his seat on the couch. "But I didn't get my homework done."

Doctor Bruning sighed, and he could tell he was already testing her nerves. She sat in her beloved easy chair with that damn legal pad. "Nick…"

Nick grimaced, disgusted with how she managed to sound like his mother, eighth-grade English teacher, Grissom, and Catherine all rolled into one. "It's not like I didn't try," he said, defenses rising.

She sighed again, shaking her head, obviously not believing him. "Nick, I know you want to get back to work, and I want to help you out, but I'm not going to lie to your boss. You've got to give me something, here."

"Getting back to work would be nice," Nick said, "because, I gotta tell ya, Doc, I'm running out of rooms in my house to clean."

She shot him a look that was very nearly a glare. "I'm not joking here, Nick."

"I know," he said quietly. "Neither am I." He shifted in his seat, knowing what he was about to ask was a long shot, at best. "I can't do what you want me to, not under these circumstances."

"What do you mean?"

Nick noted gratefully that she had yet to make a note on her pad. "I have to get back in that environment," he said, keeping his voice firm, attempting to ensure she understood how serious he was. "I can't fix anything sitting alone at home."

She cocked her head. "So you haven't tried to reach out at all?"

"Yeah, I did," he protested. "I answered when Warrick called yesterday."

"What did the two of you talk about?"

Nick winced. "We didn't, really."

And there she went with the note-taking. "You're not listening to me, Nick."

"Look," he said, holding up his hands. "I'll make you a deal."

She looked up from her writing, much to Nick's relief. "I'm listening."

"Okay," he said, bobbing his head. "Okay, how about you tell Ecklie to let me back at work, and I _promise_ I will work things out with Warrick while I'm there." Nick smiled his most innocent smile.

She was, regretfully, unaffected by his charm. "Just with Warrick?"

Nick's smile wavered. "And with the others. Look," he said, sighing. "I just have to get back in there. I'm goin' completely nutso."

Doctor Bruning's gaze bore steadily into him, and he tried to keep up the smile the best he could. He thought for a moment she was going to tell him no, but then there was just the slightest change in her posture, and years of sitting in interrogations told Nick that was her tell, and she had given into his plea.

"I still want you to come see me on Thursday," she said sternly. "And you better have something more than 'we didn't really talk' to tell me."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Don't make me regret this, Nick." She jabbed her pen at him, again sounding like an authority figure.

"I won't," he said, holding up a hand. "Scout's honor."

The joke caused her to shake her head. "And take this seriously. You're hurting, and I want to help you."

"I'm fine," Nick said quickly, and was just as quickly rewarded with a glare. His gaze shifted to the floor. "Yeah, that's not so convincing anymore, huh?"

"No," the doctor responded honestly. "It's not."

* * *

To be continued...


	13. Breaking the Habit

_Chapter Thirteen: Breaking the Habit_

Nick answered the phone and, in retrospect, thought maybe he should have let it go to voicemail, like all the calls before.

"_Hey,"_ Greg exclaimed upon hearing Nick's voice. _"Long time, no talk."_

There was an accusation in his tone, and his words worked their magic, throwing in a little guilt to top off everything else Nick was feeling. "Yeah, sorry about that," he said. "I really meant to call you back, I just…"

"_You don't need to lie, Nick. You needed some space. I get it. I really do."_

"Yeah," Nick said softly over the lump of remorse building inside of him. "Yeah, you do. I forget sometimes."

There was a pause on the line, and Nick half-expected Greg to yell at him for being so wrapped up in his own problems and he hadn't even thought of going to Greg to talk. The thought had literally never crossed his mind, as the explosion in the DNA lab was just another item on the ever-growing List of Things We Can't Ever Talk About.

"_I do, too."_ Greg's voice, calm and honest, finally came back over the line.

Nick began to respond, to apologize, but Greg continued.

"_You know, enough times goes by, and you put it out of your mind. Enough time passes, and you finally don't think about it anymore."_

Nick slowly nodded to himself, feeling a fog rolling over him. Not that Greg didn't have the best of intentions, but he was talking to the King of Not Thinking About It. He had enough Its to last a good many lifetimes, and was a pro at putting Its behind him. Or had been, until recently.

Greg seemed to talk Nick's silence as some kind of encouragement to continue, although it really, really wasn't. _"I know that what happened to me and what you went through are hardly comparable. I mean, the explosion was a split-second thing, and you were down there for…" _

Greg blessedly stopped talking right before Nick's head exploded. He didn't understand how Greg could tell him not to think about it and then continue to talk about it. He remained silent, listening to Greg nervously clear his throat over the line.

"_So, uh, do you know when you're gonna be back to work?"_

What a nice change of subject, and pleasant topic to touch upon. Nick grimaced and rubbed his free hand over his eyes. "Yeah, tonight."

"_Really?"_

Nick suddenly realized how badly he wanted the conversation to end. "You sound surprised."

"_Well, Grissom didn't say anything about – "_

"Maybe he doesn't know," Nick cut in, the words sounding lame even to his own ears. _Of course he knows. He didn't tell them because of all the fun we'll have this way._

He sighed. "Listen, Greg, I gotta go. I've got stuff to do around here before work." He didn't, really, but sustaining a conversation for more than four minutes seemed beyond his reach at the moment.

"_Yeah. Yeah, sure. Well, I guess I'll see ya tonight then."_

"Yeah, I guess." He hadn't meant for it to come out so cold, and Nick winced. "Greg – "

_Click._ Greg had hung up on him, much as he'd hung up on Warrick.

_Don'tcha know by now, Nicky?_ he thought, snapping his cell phone shut. _Karma's a bitch._

Nick sighed and leaned his palms against the cool porcelain of his sink. Palms growing increasing slick with sweat. That was a phone call that had taken place a few hours earlier. It was short, but with so much to be taken from it. Greg, the one person he'd thus far managed not to piss off, and he'd made him hang up on him.

Nick shook his head, staring at his reflection. _You're pathetic. You should be isolated and studied._

He was not looking forward to that night. He had been, before he really got to thinking about it. Getting out of the house would be great, and he needed it, really bad, before he lost what little bit of sanity he had left. He was just having a hard time getting going.

It was just work. Just going into work, into a job he'd been doing for years with people he'd been working with for years. He tried to remind himself of these things, but nothing was calming his nerves. It shouldn't be so hard, shouldn't _feel_ so hard, just going into work. There was that thing where he hadn't spoken to anyone in days, except for that super-short phone call with Warrick and the slightly longer, more painful conversation with Greg. There was that thing where the last words he'd spoken to most of his friends had come in the form of yelling, followed by storming out, and he felt like he was actually going to snap the next time someone called him Nicky in _that_ tone.

The little brunette had a plan. Doctors had a plan for everything. To them, there was always a solution. Nick seriously doubted any therapist he would ever encounter could even try to relate to the crap he'd been through. But she was trying. Lord, she was trying. To her, the first thing he needed to do seemed at face value to be the simplest thing she could have suggested. Talk to Warrick.

Nick had gotten himself into quite the little dilemma, one theoretically easily rectified by talking to Warrick. It seemed so simple. Talking was easy, Warrick was reachable, and yet talking _to _Warrick was sure to be awkward. And much more so now, after their conversation on the phone – if it could be called that. His temper was just so easily flared anymore, and Warrick was even more hotheaded, and on a more regular basis than Nick. It wasn't a good combination.

It seemed forever ago they'd watched their last baseball game. It seemed forever ago they'd had any real time to spend just being friends. And getting it back seemed hard. Maybe too hard, and for the briefest of weak moments, Nick wondered if it maybe wasn't worth it. But he'd made a promise, and being the person he was, Nick would make good on that promise no matter the discomfort it caused him. He had to risk inevitable discomfort to get his best friend back.

Staring at his reflection in the bathroom mirror, Nick sighed. He was going to have to get it done tonight, or he was going to continue to put everything off as much as he could. He didn't know what else to do. He was going to have to go in that night with an open mind or he was going to achieve nothing besides lending even more aid to the collective team collapse.

Nick glanced at his watch, resting on the bathroom counter. _T-minus five hours and counting._

* * *

"Nick's coming in tonight?"

"That's what Grissom said."

Warrick's ears perked to the conversation as Catherine and Sara entered the break room. This was news to him.

The women glanced strangely at him as they passed, seated at the table in the middle of the room. He tried to remain unaffected by those scrutinizing eyes. He noted that the two of them had been sticking pretty close lately. Maybe the secret to staying sane was in the buddy system, a strength in numbers kind of deal. They didn't seem to be exceptionally well-rested, but not quite as rundown as he felt, so maybe it worked. He would have to see what Greggo was up to later.

_Or Nick, you dumbass_, the pesky little voice in his head said. _You remember him? Your best friend?_

As Sara settled into the seat across from Warrick, giving him a look he didn't quite understand, Catherine frowned. "What kind of suspension lasts nine days?"

Damn, if that woman wasn't just curious to the point of being annoying. She couldn't simply accept Nick's suspension was over, no, she had to question the strange number of days it had lasted. _Why couldn't you just round it out to ten, Ecklie? Damn, man, help me out here._

"It is an odd number, isn't it?" Sara continued to stare Warrick down, and he tried to look as innocent as he could. He didn't know why she had to assume he knew what was going on. He did, but that wasn't the point.

Catherine sank into the chair next to Warrick and continued to speak to Sara without so much as casting another glance his way. "Wonder why he did it." She tapped a finger on her chin.

Warrick, one-third of the people that knew about the stipulations that had been set, meaning the shrink visits, felt compelled to put a stop to the conversation. They were fishing for information and he wasn't going to allow himself to be used like that. And more importantly, he didn't want them to find out things he didn't want them to know.

He finally spoke up. "Don't worry about it."

Catherine and Sara exchanged a look. One of _those_ looks, and Warrick had the feeling he was about to be double-teamed.

"Do you know something, Warrick?" Catherine asked, pouring on the innocence in a sickly sweet tone.

Sara smiled the angelic smile to match. "Because if you did, it would be wrong not to tell us."

Warrick's eyes narrowed as they moved between his interrogators. "Don't worry about it," he repeated, in the same monotonous voice.

Catherine sighed and tipped her chair back, resting it on two legs. She squinted at Warrick and crossed her arms. "You know, if there is something going on, I'm going to find out what it is."

Warrick raised his eyebrows and stood. "Oh, I don't doubt it."

He left the room without looking back to catch their expressions, though he sure felt those piercing eyes on his back. He was walking away quickly, just wanting to be out of reach of the women, and nearly smacked into Greg in the hall.

The other man held up his hands with a crooked grin, but it was obviously forced. "Whoa, Warrick. Where's the fire?"

Warrick shook his head. "Just getting away from…did you know Nick was coming in tonight?" It came out much more demanding than was intended.

Greg cocked his head, hesitant to respond due to Warrick's harsh tone. "Yeah, I called Nick this morning and he told me."

Then that look came over his face, that look of realization, and he averted his eyes, stuffing his hands into his pockets. "He didn't tell you."

"No. Must've slipped his mind."

Greg chewed his lip. "I just figured…"

"If he told you then he told me?"

Greg bounced on the balls of his feet. "It's not like he came to me with this information. Maybe if you called him…" he trailed off when Warrick shot him a glare cold enough to freeze. "Look, Warrick, things are a little crazy right now, and I get that, but everything's gonna get straightened out – "

Warrick cut him off with a wave of his hand. "You don't need to stick up for him, Greg. I get it." He shrugged his shoulders, feeling even more defeated than he already did. "He doesn't want to talk to me."

Greg continued gnawing on his lower lip and Warrick was afraid for a moment he was going to bite it clean off. "He does," he said finally. "And you guys'll talk and make up and – "

"And what, Greg?" Warrick cut in with a pathetic smile. "We'll have a big group hug? I think it's too late for that."

Greg's shoulders visibly slumped, and Warrick cursed himself for letting his own pathetic situation leak out and affect the one person who always managed to see the brighter side. When Greg Sanders couldn't see the silver lining, you knew you were in trouble.

Greg regained his composure before Warrick even had time to apologize. He looked up with a big grin. "It's never too late for a big group hug, 'Rick." And then he turned and walked away, still with his hands shoved deep into his pockets.

Warrick felt like a small weight was leaving him and walking away with Greg. He wasn't sure if that mean talking with Greg had helped alleviate some of the stress he was under or if Greg, already seeming more beaten than usual, was taking it away with him.

* * *

Of course Sara wanted to hug him. Nick wasn't really in a touchy-feely mood but he returned the gesture, giving her a light, quick pat on the back.

"I'm glad you're back," she said in his ear. "We missed you."

Nick pulled away then, holding her at arm's length, at a safe distance, and chuckled lightly. "Yeah. It wasn't the same being home."

He wasn't going to lie; being home for the past nine days _hadn't_ been the same. It was enough to satisfy them for the time being, and Sara started chatting away as though nothing had happened. It was really quite something. He bobbed his head along, pretending that yes, he did want to hear what prank Bobby had pulled on Hodges and yes, he wanted all the details about how Greg's solo had gone – wince there, for forgetting to ask; maybe another reason Greg hadn't seemed too pleased with him on the phone – and yes, he cared about how _all_ the cases were going.

She was the only one who seemed to have mustered the courage to talk to him, which could account for the amount and speed at which she was talking. Catherine and Greg leaned against the table, watching Sara with amused expressions. When Nick met Catherine's eyes, she winced and gave him an 'I'm sorry' look.

He couldn't help but frown and give only a quick nod, and she looked immediately back to Sara. Greg raised his eyebrows, and appeared to be holding back a laugh as Sara rambled on.

It did not escape his notice that Warrick was nowhere to be found. Strike One. It was hard to believe that only hours earlier Nick had contemplated calling him. If Warrick wasn't even willing to be in the same room as him, then he had to wonder what hope there was.

Nick was facing Sara as she talked a mile a minute, but his focus was elsewhere. Grissom was standing somewhere behind him; he'd entered the room as quietly as ever, but Nick always knew. There was a presence in the room now, and it had been pretty obvious when Sara's eyes ticked over to look at something over his shoulder. Only Gil Grissom could put that look in her eyes, equal parts longing and contempt.

Just knowing Grissom was there was enough to kill any hope of having a good night. Nick hadn't said a word to the man since his surprise visit the morning after his suspension, and was perfectly fine with that. If Grissom wanted to take this opportunity to hop on the Poor Nicky bandwagon that was fine, but Nick didn't have to listen to it. He didn't need to hear, or care to hear, the man's half-assed sympathy now. All he'd wanted was a little understanding over the past few months. He didn't want the silent treatment, and didn't like the feeling that he was out of the loop on something.

Nick had been so intent on focusing on Grissom's inactiveness behind him, he hadn't realized Sara had stopped talking and they were all looking at him. He glanced in turn at each imploring face with wide eyes and tried for an easy grin.

Sara cocked her head. "So…what _did_ you do?"

"What?"

Sara frowned. "With all of that free time?"

"Oh." Nick shrugged nonchalantly. "Cleaned a lot."

For some reason they all seemed to find that funny. Or maybe it was just an excuse for easy laughter, attempting to lighten the already flailing mood.

"Stokes?"

"Yeah," he said, gratefully turning to the new speaker. That gratitude faded instantly as he realized the speaker was Conrad Ecklie. He quickly hid the grimace overtaking his features.

"If you've got a minute," Ecklie said, gesturing in the direction of his office, in a way to let Nick know he was going to be speaking with him whether he had a minute or not.

Nick nodded a bit halfheartedly. He gave his team a small smile and followed Ecklie out of the room and down the hall to his office.

"Now, Nick," Ecklie started in that patronizing tone the very second the door latched shut. "I spoke with Doctor Bruning, and she said I could allow you back to work, but she didn't hesitate to tell me she has reservations about it."

Nick winced and glanced down at his boots. He should have counted on that.

"Now, I don't know if you worked her over with that 'southern charm'," Ecklie continued, even employing finger-quotes as he spoke, "but if she has her doubts, then so do I." He crossed his arms and stared Nick down.

Nick smiled his best faking in front of the boss smile, one he had a lot of practice with. "What can I say, Conrad? She told you I can work, yeah?"

Squint. "Yes."

"Then what's the problem?"

Ecklie unfolded his arm, placing his hands in his pockets in what he must have thought was a casual manner. "There'd better not be one, Nick."

Wider smile. "We're cool."

"Okay. Then get to work."

Nick was no more than two feet outside of the office when he let out the longest breath he'd never known he was holding.

* * *

It only took the one night.

One night of throat clearings, of awkward glances and even more awkward forced laughter, coming too loud and too often. Of big, fake smiles and feeling eyes on the back of his head. Sara tried, but one person's efforts weren't enough.

It only took that one night, and Nick knew it had to end. _This _had to end. And he was the only one with the power to end it.

They were mocked that late winter night by The Powers That Be. The only case for the graveyard shift was a triple homicide at a gas station on the outskirts of town. It appeared to be the work of a traveling serial killer who'd held the place up with no reservations about cutting down the teen behind the counter or the elderly couple filling up their Crown Victoria.

They loaded up the equipment, their kits, and rather strategically, themselves into two vehicles and headed out of town. Nick, Greg, and Sara in one truck; Grissom, Warrick, and Catherine in the other.

When they met up at the cars Warrick had some excuse for his tardiness, checking on blood evidence for another case, but it was painfully obvious to everyone what was really going on. And all it did was add to the tension.

There was very little conversation in Vehicle Number One. Greg and Sara offered to let Nick drive, perhaps as a sign of trust. He would be lying if he said he didn't mind the special treatment – he minded it very much. He didn't want it, and he certainly didn't need it. But he smiled and hopped into the driver's seat, braking with plenty of room at red lights and driving at a constant, reasonable speed.

There had never before in the history of crime scene investigating been a scene so quiet and tense, Nick was sure. Grissom doled out responsibilities and they each kept to themselves for the better part of two hours. It was a crowded scene, police and press, and messy enough to keep everyone busy. Still, they each seemed distracted, stuck in their own heads. Sara began lifting prints from a gas pump without gloves. Greg knocked over a jar of print powder. Catherine nearly lost her cool while talking to a possible witness. Only Grissom remained seemingly unaffected by…him.

It was him. It was all him. All his fault. All of the tension and the awkwardness. The reason they couldn't talk. The reason they didn't work well together. It was all him.

Nick watched them all working from his own little self-appointed station photographing blood drops inside the station center, and bit his lip until the taste of blood brought him crashing hard back to reality.

He was going to have to put his discomfort with Warrick, his childish annoyance with Catherine, and all of his anger with Grissom aside and think of what was best for the team. Because if he didn't, there wasn't going to a team left to think about.

* * *

"Grissom?"

It was a voice that had never before sounded so hesitant in requesting his attention; this was usually the voice of a man who was eager, nearly starved for it. Gil's head snapped up so fast he got a crick in his neck, but it was worth it to see Nick standing in his doorway. That was something he'd almost convinced himself was never going to happen again.

He found himself staring dumbly a moment before his voice caught up with him. "Yeah, Nick. What do you need?"

Nick entered the office and gently closed the door behind him. No slam, and Gil inwardly breathed a sigh of relief. He was sure he deserved a slam, not for anything specific that night but for all the collective nights.

The CSIs had returned to the lab about forty-five minutes earlier and everyone had gone off to their own little corner of the lab to process the evidence they'd collected or wait for test results. Gil was doing the latter, planning on checking in with DNA in another ten minutes, just to see where they stood. For all he'd known, Nick was somewhere doing the same thing. But no, Nick was standing uneasily in the middle of his office.

The uneasiness he saw in the younger man didn't last long. Nick seemed to be taking a moment to collect his thoughts and choose his words, but it was only a few seconds before he met Gil's eyes. There was a glint in those brown eyes that communicated more to Gil that his tone of voice ever could.

"I don't want things to be weird anymore," Nick said, accent thick, a testament to his discomfort from simply being in Gil's presence. Gil also noticed he chose to remain standing. "I just want everything to get back to normal."

Gil frowned and started to speak, but Nick raised a hand and stopped him. "And I don't want to be mad at you anymore."

Gil's mouth opened slightly, and he pulled off his glasses. "I don't want you to be mad at me anymore, either," he said tentatively.

"I want to be open," Nick said, eyes boring holes deep into Gil's heart. "With you, and with everyone. I want to be straight with you guys about what's going on with me." He shifted his weight. "I don't want to keep things from you guys, because I think that's where all of this…crap, is coming from."

Each word was an individual slap across the face for Gil, sitting at his spacious desk containing a file labeled with the name of the man standing in front of him. A file Nick didn't know existed, with information Nick didn't know about. Not information. _Evidence_.

Gil nodded slowly. "That, that would be nice, Nick."

Nick bobbed his head as well. "And I'm gonna start now." He moved to the chair and sat opposite Gil. "I'm here tonight because I asked to be, Gris. Not because the doc thought I was ready." He cracked a smile close to his usual easy-going grin. "If she had her way, I'd probably be in a straightjacket right about now."

Gil nodded along slowly, not knowing what else to do.

Nick scratched a spot behind his ear. "Yeah. I just wanted you to know that. That I'm still gonna be seeing her. Probably on a regular basis." He shrugged. "I think maybe it's a good thing."

"Anything that will help you, Nick," Gil said, surprised to have found his voice in such an ironic situation.

There was that smile again. Still a little forced, but part of it was genuine. Nick smacked his palms on the arms of the chair and stood. "Better check on that evidence. And I think I might talk to Warrick."

Gil raised his eyes to keep in line with Nick's. "That's good to hear."

Nick started out of the door, and Gil squeezed his eyes shut. He couldn't let him leave like that, not after what he'd said about being open and honest. Not knowing what he'd done. "Nick."

"Yeah?"

He couldn't do it. Gil had kept his secrets from Nick for this long, and revealing information about the tape would only anger him. It would be better for both of them if he never found out. "Nothing."

Nick tapped his fingers on the doorframe for just a second, and then he was gone.

* * *

To be continued...


	14. Rest in Pieces

_Chapter Fourteen: Rest in Pieces_

Locating Warrick turned out to be more complicated than anticipated. He must not have wanted to be found, because Nick was positive the lab wasn't _this_ big. He felt as though he'd trekked three miles at least, up and down hallways and back again, poking his head into every room, disrupting work and earning more than one glare from an annoyed colleague. No sign of Warrick.

Nick had the childish thought that Warrick was only a few steps behind him, ducking into doorways and maintenance closets when he turned around or hiding behind lab techs and other CSIs as he passed. He shook his head and had to smile. That would never happen; Warrick towered over everyone else in the lab. There was still that other thought, though, and Nick had a brief lapse into paranoia where he actually opened a supply closet door, scanning the small, predictably empty space and slamming the door shut quickly before anyone could see.

He walked briskly down the hall after that, hands stuffed in his pockets, head lowered in defeat, and collided hard with Warrick at the hallway intersection, each man rounding the corner from a different direction and paying attention to where they were walking.

Nick bounced back a few steps, hand to his forehead where he'd knocked into the top of the taller man's lowered one. Warrick blinked hard a few times and patted his short, dreaded hair.

"Damn, man," Warrick said. There was no anger, or even annoyance in his voice. It was his usual light, amused tone that had been missing of late. He even looked at Nick with something closely resembling a smile. "Hard head."

Nick pressed his fingertips lightly on what was already a developing bump on his forehead and raised his eyebrows. "Right back at ya."

That being done with, it seemed they would be doomed to slip back into their recent pattern of uncomfortable silence followed by a prolonged period of not talking. And they might have, as Warrick's eyes narrowed and shifted his gaze to what was surely a big heap of nothing over Nick's right shoulder, but Nick took a small breath, and then a smaller step to his right to regain eye contact.

"You maybe have a minute to talk?" he asked. _Pathetic. You sound absolutely pathetic._

Warrick's expression was almost comical, eyes widening and mouth making a shape not quite a smile or a frown. He let out a small laugh and scratched at the back of his head. "Yeah. I, uh…yeah, I do."

Nick understood the other man's uneasiness, because he was feeling it himself. It was a strange feeling to be feeling, faced with the simple prospect of speaking with the man who wore the title of his best friend. This mutual uneasiness manifested in two lopsided grins, and Warrick gestured with the file folder in his hand.

"Just lemme run this down the hall to Hodges," he said. "Meet ya in the break room in five?"

"Yeah," Nick said, giving both a casual nod and shrug of his shoulders. "Sure."

"Aight." Warrick studied Nick, another long stare. He opened his mouth as if to say more, but closed it with a small jerk of his head and continued down the hall in the direction he'd initially been heading.

As soon as he was out of eyesight Nick brought his hand back up to his forehead and prodded the spot gently. _Yep. Definitely going to have a bruise there._

* * *

He felt as though he'd been standing dumbly in the middle of the break room for nearly half an hour. It had only been four minutes, and he must have checked his watch two dozen times. He worried that standing like he was would make him appear impatient, but wasn't sure he wanted the vulnerability of sitting when the other man entered the room, open for an attack, verbal or otherwise.

He wondered if crossing his arms would make his seem nervous or defensive, and knew neither was an emotion he wanted to convey. Still, he couldn't figure out what to do with his hands, so he crossed them anyway. He wondered what the point of this was going to be, what he hoped to accomplish. Everything he had to say, everything he'd been practicing in his head for the past week, seemed to escape him. His mind was a complete blank. He felt like _he_ was a complete blank, and had no idea what was going to happen or what he was supposed to do.

So he remained where he was, standing in the middle of the room, arms crossed in an attempt to get his damned watch out of his line of sight. Of course, there was still the wall clock, and according to the location of its hands, the predetermined meeting time had come and gone.

And Warrick was still standing alone in the break room. He sighed and wrinkled his nose. It was barely past the time he'd told Nick he would meet him, but Nick was usually a pretty punctual guy and he'd seemed eager enough to talk. After all of the silence, the unbearably long, uncomfortable silence, he just wanted it to be over. This possible end was much more appealing than the alternatives his pessimistic mind had busily been concocting. His pessimistic mind was currently picturing Nick laughing with Sara and Greg, watching Warrick sweat on some hidden camera.

As soon as the thought crossed his mind, Warrick gave himself a mental slap for even allowing himself to think it. It was disgusting to put Nick and hidden cameras in the same thought.

So now he was standing in the middle of the room, alone, feeling like a complete ass for a brand new set of reasons. No matter what happened, Warrick told himself that he was not giving up. He would stand there, in that room, in that spot, all night if that's what it took. He was heartsick for his friend and missed having him around, more than he thought he would. It was by some miraculously strong source of willpower and a healthy dose of frustration he hadn't run right over to Nick's house on more than one occasion. It had seemed Nick wanted it to be that way, and it wasn't worth it to fight the man.

Nick had approached him out of nowhere and asked to talk. That was progress if ever there was, the big step he'd been waiting for. Warrick was dealing with a bit of lingering resentment, no mistaking that, but even more, there was a sadness digging at him, at the thought their friendship had almost been lost.

Almost. That was the key word, and Warrick sighed as he realized the thought hadn't been put completely out of his mind yet. There was a lot of rebuilding to be done, on both sides, and this was supposed to be the first big step in that direction.

So where the hell was Nick?

Warrick started to pace the small room, having grown antsy standing still. He checked his watch again; they were starting to push ten minutes. Maybe Nick had just gotten held up with something to do with the service station case. It was completely plausible. Warrick, himself was starting to press for time. He needed to get back to Hodges. The tech had been less than thrilled when Warrick had dumped his evidence on the desk and split.

The damned little voice in his head was whispering again, telling him Nick had chickened out, that this whole thing was a joke. _He_ was a joke, and the thought there was anything part of their friendship left worth salvaging was a joke. If Nick hadn't thought so, then he would have been there.

Another glance at his watch and Warrick saw the minutes were ticking by faster and faster, and any chance he was going to be able to keep his frustration at bay for the greater good was flying out the window. He was growing more pissed with each passing second, and just when he thought his patience couldn't be tested any longer, he heard hurried booted footsteps.

No longer unsure what to do with his hands, Warrick stopped pacing and planted them on his hips, standing firmly in the middle of the room, flush with the door. Nick breezed into the room and he was there to greet him with raised eyebrows and a harsh tone. "Five minutes?"

Nick stopped short. "Sorry, I got held up with – "

Warrick used a small wave of his hand to stop Nick once more, having heard all he needed to hear. Nick was telling the truth, not blowing him off, and it only took a few words for this relieving revelation to come to light.

"It's cool," he said, relaxing his posture.

And thus they reached the point in the conversation where the awkward silence should take its cruel, monstrous hold on them. They might have been able to get past it, to carry on some sort of meaningful conversation and even repair their flailing friendship that very evening, if not for the interruption.

"Warrick? Nick?"

They turned in unison to Catherine on the threshold.

She shrank back, correctly sensing she was interrupting something that really couldn't risk it. She tentatively held up an assignment slip. "Grissom asked if you guys would mind taking a new case."

Warrick glanced at Nick, but the other man was already nodding. "Yeah, that's cool," he said.

It was a true testament to the hesitance they were both still feeling. Warrick wanted to smack Nick upside the head, but then again, he needed a good smack himself.

Catherine's eyes ticked from Nick to Warrick, who also nodded his halfhearted agreement. She took a step into the room and held out the paper for one of them to take, raising her eyebrows as Warrick obliged.

"Got a really weird one tonight, guys," she said. "Woman was hit in a parking garage by her own car."

* * *

In retrospect, the happenings of that already eventful night could have been easily avoided if Gil would have taken the case, or given it to Catherine, Sara, Greg, or any combination of the three. If he would have given it to Warrick as a solo. If he would have kept it for himself.

But he'd thought he would be nice, helpful, and thoughtful, and all of the things people didn't normally associate with Gil Grissom. He wanted to help Nick and Warrick, so he gave them the case to work together, and hopefully it would get them talking. He knew the two of them always managed to have a good time working a case, even under the most morbid of circumstances. It was how they kept sane.

There had been no semblance of a good time to be had that night, not in the slightest.

It was nearing dawn, and Gil hadn't heard a peep from either man since they'd gone out to the parking garage. When he'd passed the A/V lab an hour earlier and seen Nick in with Archie, he hadn't stopped to check in. He knew the guys were doing fine.

The first inkling Gil had that he'd made a mistake hit him the moment Catherine came into his office. There was just a feeling that came into the room with her.

"Have you heard?" she asked, almost breathlessly.

"Heard what?"

Catherine laughed. "Do you seriously have your head in the sand or what?"

Gil's eyes widened. "Catherine, what are you talking about? What happened?"

She set her palms on the surface of his desk and leaned in, as though sharing a secret. "That case that you gave the guys?"

Gil nodded, the bad feeling in his gut growing.

Catherine took a breath. "Kelly Gordon is a suspect in the murder."

Gil's mouth dropped open and he found himself incapable of the basic function of speech. It took him a moment to recover. "What? How?"

Catherine straightened and moved aimlessly about the office, clearly upset. "Well, she was paroled sometime last week, and Nick found some kind of recording between Kelly and the victim…"

She continued to ramble rapidly, gesturing wildly with her arms, but Gil had stopped listening. Just past Catherine, outside his open office door, he could see Nick walking, or more accurately stomping, down the hall in their direction.

"Catherine," Gil said softly.

His warning fell on deaf ears, or maybe he hadn't spoken loudly enough. Catherine continued on, oblivious to Nick's approach.

"Catherine," he said louder, finally drawing her attention.

"What?" She stopped and turned to face him just as Nick approached in the doorway.

Gil's eyes moved to meet his over Catherine's shoulder.

She noticed the small movement and turned her attention to the new arrival. "Hey, Nick."

"Catherine."

That was all. Short, hollow-sounding, and not Nick. That sense that he'd made a mistake was picking up momentum, and Gil felt an unfamiliar tug in his stomach.

Gil wasn't the only one affected by the younger's man's tone. Catherine actually took a step back and lowered her head.

"I'm just going to…" she trailed off and slipped out of the room past Nick.

He stood still in the doorway, drawn up to his full height and stiff as a board.

"Nick?" Gil was hesitant to ask, hesitant to speak at all.

Nick was nearly unrecognizable, his expression a crudely sculpted mask, one that was out of place on such a typically good-natured man. He seemed to have aged five years in the last few hours. Etched into his face were lines of anguish, betrayal, and anger.

It was the last one that was scaring Gil, giving him the most cause to try again. "Is there a problem with your case?"

Nick smiled the thinnest, tightest, most unpleasant smile Gil had ever seen and he wasn't sure he would ever have thought Nick capable of it. "Like with the suspect?" he asked, voice deep and grating. He moved fully into the room and took a seat in the chair across from Gil, sitting just as rigidly as he'd stood in the doorway.

Gil swallowed. He knew there had to be more going on, because Nick had to know he would never have assigned the case to him if he'd known Kelly Gordon was going to end up a suspect. He fought to keep eye contact with Nick, and it was turning into a real struggle. There was so much fire in those brown eyes; so much more going on behind them than Gil Grissom could ever have hoped to understand.

"I heard…" He found himself unable to say the name, but Nick already knew what he was going to say, so why waste his time. "Is that a problem?"

Nick's eyes narrowed. "No. No, it's not a problem."

If that wasn't the problem then it was something else. Gil got a chill from the frigid atmosphere of the room.

"By the way, I found out about the tape." Nick's words were cold as ice; they traveled across the room in cool crystalline form and shattered upon reaching Gil's ears, which felt as though they were bleeding.

He hadn't anticipated this, and didn't have a plan. Gil didn't know what to do. He didn't have time to figure it out, either, as Nick continued.

"I did a voice comparison. Sylvia Mullins is the other voice on that tape. She's Walter Gordon's ex-business manager. So…I'm pretty sure she had something to do with my kidnapping."

If there was anything that could have made the moment more painful, it was hearing Nick say those words for the first time. There was no hesitation, no stumbling. It was pure indifference, as though it wasn't what mattered anymore.

"But now she's dead." It was all Gil could force his mouth to say. He hoped to keep Nick talking about the case and leave the conversation in a place where Nick was still speaking with him.

"Yeah."

"So…it's over."

_Stupid, stupid, stupid. You stupid old man._ Any chance of the conversation ending on anything resembling a positive, or even neutral light, fled the scene in the two seconds it took for Gil Grissom to make one of the biggest mistakes of his life.

Nick laughed. "Are you kidding me?"

"Nick, I – "

"You should have told me. Who didn't you?" Nick threw his arms out. "Honestly. What reason could you possibly have for – "

"To protect you." The words flew from his mouth of their own accord, and Gil finally had to break that precious eye contact before his eyes burned up in their sockets.

"That's not your job," Nick gritted out through clenched teeth. "You should have told me. About the tape, about the other speaker. I shouldn't have found this out from a computer screen."

"Nicky, I – " Gil was growing desperate, feeling so out of control that he could actually feel Nick slipping away. _Nicky._

"And right after I told you," Nick said, his voice low. "Right after I came in here, sat in this chair, and _told you_ I was going to be open with you." He sat back, a disgusted look marring his handsome features. "You were going to tell me then, weren't you? And you didn't."

"I didn't want you to find out," Gil said honestly.

"I can't keep having this same conversation with you, Grissom." Nick's voice was rising again, taking on a pitch Gil was unfamiliar with and didn't quite know what to do with.

"What conversation, Nick?" he asked, eyebrows furrowed in genuine confusion.

"My point, exactly!"

Gil tensed as the rising pressure in the room hit a breaking point.

Nick stood so fast he knocked his chair to the ground. His face was a mask of too many emotions for Gil to isolate and focus on individually. He didn't know which emotion to speak to.

"Seriously, Grissom, how the hell hard would it have been? 'Nick, I just wanted to let you know, there's another voice on the tape, and I'm trying to find out who it is.'"

Part of Gil really thought the best move on his part was to let Nick get it all out of his system. This was a small thing. A big mistake on his part, but not something that would have any long-lasting impact. He couldn't have been more wrong.

"You're just going to sit there?" Nick asked, not exactly yelling, but not speaking softly, either.

Gil's mouth fell open, but he couldn't think of a damn thing to say. _I'm sorry. I was wrong. I should have told you._ He could have said any of those things. Anything would have been better than the dumbfounded silence with which he was staring at Nick's face. His hurting face.

After a few moments, the mood in the room changed. The window closed, and Gil could have said anything at that point and it wouldn't have mattered because he'd waited too long. Nick's heaving chest slowly came to a rest, his shoulders fell, and his face lost that angry red color. Gil was left staring at the shell of the man he'd come to know and respect. The man that he'd seen put through, and had put through himself, so much.

"I can't…" Nick began, trailing off and looking away. He sighed, and when he spoke again, it was barely above a whisper. "I can't work like this, Gil."

Gil sat forward, frowning out of a renewed fear chilling him from the inside out. The blood in his veins froze. "Nick, what do you…?"

"I just…" Nick bit his lip.

Gil slowly rose from his chair, and when Nick looked back at him, he froze in a kind of half-standing, half-sitting position.

"A week, Grissom," Nick said softly. "I just can't do this anymore." Nick waited there, in the middle of the dim, now silent office, before he turned and left without another word.

Gil was left alone, half-standing, half-sitting, trying to make sense of the fact Nick had just put in his weeks' notice. And it could have been so easily avoided, if he'd just kept the damned case for himself.

* * *

To be continued...


	15. Your Best Shot

_Chapter Fifteen: Your Best Shot_

She wasn't looking at him with understanding, sympathy, or as someone who'd recently pledged to the Nicky Stokes cause. Not that he was expecting any of that, but the look the doctor was giving him bordered on disappointment and a simple tolerance to his presence, stemming from anger she was harboring. She wasn't happy, that was for sure.

She'd said she wanted him to return to her office with more to say than "we didn't really talk," and he most certainly had more than that to tell her. New traveled fast, but it didn't seem Ecklie had thought to call and warn the nice lady about what the complete screwball coming in to see her had gone and done. He probably thought it was some kind of justice for Nick to have to tell her himself. She hadn't taken the news lightly, and in fact had been sitting silently for the past few minutes, glaring at him. Professionally, of course.

Every now and then Doctor Bruning would shake her head lightly or open her mouth to say something, but it seemed she would decide against it and her mouth would reset to a thin line. Her right hand was tapping her pen against the arm of her leather chair, but at least she wasn't taking any notes.

Nick used the unscheduled time to sit and just be quiet. There had been a dull roar thundering about inside his head for the past thirty-six hours, one resulting from too many auditory stimuli refusing to let go. Sara screaming at him, Catherine pleading with him, Greg shushing Sara and attempting lame jokes, Warrick sighing and huffing and stomping off, and that low buzz emanating from behind Grissom's closed office door.

It was the sighing and huffing and stomping from Warrick that really got to him. He hadn't expected Warrick to understand; the man had always gotten everything he wanted from Gil Grissom. Solos, promotions, he named it and it was his. To Warrick, it must have seemed like he was throwing a tantrum, and his career and friends away. He had every right to be angry, and he really thought Warrick would try to understand the position Grissom had put him in.

Grissom's absence from the Ganging Up on Nicky festivities wasn't in the least surprising. He'd once again retreated to the dark confines of his office and Nick was just fine with that. Not once in the last day and a half had Grissom tried to talk to him. Nick was a little annoyed himself that he cared. He'd made his decision, and was positive neither Grissom nor anyone was going to talk him out of it. Somewhat positive.

To be fair, Nick hadn't really said much, himself. He'd already said what he needed to, and even if there was something else, his mouth didn't seem to want to work. He'd taken off pretty early that morning, after he left Grissom's office, and by the time he'd returned to work that night, well, everyone already knew.

He had a headache he couldn't seem to shake, and every now and then there was a stabbing pain in his temple, one that would recede just as quickly as it came. He had too much to process and his brain would be much happier with the whole situation if it could shut down and reboot. He hadn't been able to find a single moment to collect his thoughts. The time he'd spent away from the lab had been a few hours of what he wasn't sure actually qualified as sleep, and it was right back into the jungle with heavy steps and bags under his eyes. Right back to finishing the case, and finding himself cornered by CSIs for all of that screaming and pleading and shushing and sighing and huffing and stomping. He'd been summoned and wrangled away from the melee and straight into Ecklie's office.

"_Nick, take a seat." _

_While he'd really rather stand, Nick sat in the proffered chair, which hadn't been so much offered as pointed at. He refused to give in and break eye contact with the lab director, leaning against the edge of his desk with crossed arms, glaring down at Nick. _

"_Well?"_

_Nick smiled coolly. "Well, what?"_

_Ecklie wasn't amused. His nostrils flared, and his lip curled. "Look, Stokes, just because you put in a notice doesn't mean you get to strut around these halls and do and say whatever the hell you want for the next seven days."_

_He was clearly affected by Nick's decision, and Nick couldn't for the life of him conjure a reason why. His smile faded. "I'm not strutting." _Slinking, maybe. Certainly not strutting.

_Ecklie's expression didn't soften and his posture didn't loosen in the slightest. "What's going on?"_

"_I put in my weeks' notice."_

"_Drop the attitude, right now. Try again, or you won't get another week."_

_The threat was mildly tempting, and Nick cocked his head, considering. In a brief moment of clarity, he sighed. He didn't really want to quit. He didn't want to leave the others; Warrick, Sara, Catherine, Greg, Brass, Archie, Bobby, even Hodges…they were a team. He would never have thought he would be the one to pull the first brick from the foundation, but he doubted it would be the one to bring down the building._

_Nick pursed his lip and shook his head. "Professional differences." He was reaching, and it almost came out as a question._

_Ecklie raised his eyebrows, starting to straighten. "With who? Is it the new DNA guy? Because I've been hearing a lot about – "_

"_No," Nick said softly, shaking his head. "No, it's not the new DNA guy."_

"_Then who?"_

_Nick was hesitant to answer and didn't know why. Didn't know why he should cover for Grissom. He was so mad with the man he couldn't think straight, and yet here he was, protecting him to the end. _

"_I'd rather not say," he said shortly._

_Ecklie was seething. "Fine." _

_The two men stared each other down for a moment or two before Ecklie switched tactics. _

"_Look, Nick," he said patiently. "In all honesty, the lab needs you. You're a great CSI, and a very valuable asset to this organization."_

_Nick laughed lightly. "Bet I'm hell on the insurance policy though, yeah?"_

_Ecklie actually cracked a smile. "Can't argue with you there." His posture finally relaxed and he leaned forward, bracing his arms on his desk. "I can't do anything to convince you to stay?"_

_Nick paused and after a moment, shook his head. "No," he said, unable to keep the inflection out of his voice. "_You _can't."_

A loud, pointed sigh from the doctor brought Nick back. He wasn't entirely sure if it was a testament to her current level of frustration or if she'd simply noticed he was spacing out and was trying to regain his attention. Either way, it seemed she was finally ready to speak to him.

Doctor Bruning looked up at Nick with embers burning low in her eyes, a look of both frustration and disappointment, probably with both of them. "Do you remember back a few days ago, Nick?"

Nick nodded.

"Do you remember when you were sitting there, and I was sitting here, and I said to you, 'don't make me regret this'?"

Another small nod. He refused to look away from those piercing, and increasingly more irritated, blue eyes. He refused to feel ashamed of himself or his decision.

"This, Nick?" she said, gesturing wildly with both hands. "This is making me regret it."

"It had nothing to do with any of the sessions we had."

"Maybe not. But you asked me to tell your boss to let you return to the lab. You said it was what you needed to do to work out the problems that you and your coworkers were having, and despite my better judgment, I went along with it because I wanted to help you."

"Yes." Nick didn't know what else he was expected to say. He was done making excuses.

"So then what happened?"

Everyone wanted explanations but no one wanted to lend an ear and just let him _talk._ There was a big difference but no one was taking the time to distinguish the two.

Nick sighed, feeling exasperated, himself. "I just got fed up."

"Fed up with what?" There went the pen. The scratchy, scratchy damned pen. Flying back and forth, spewing out far too many lines for the five words he'd spoken.

Nick found himself watching the pen move. "It's way too long a story to get into here."

The pen slammed down onto its friend, the legal pad. "Then what's the point of this, Nick? Why are you here?"

_Because you told me to be, _Nick thought. But that was a lie, and much too sarcastic a comment to have come from his mind, he was sure of that. The whole of his brain functioning had been shaken radically. He didn't even feel like himself anymore.

Nick swallowed, feeling that newfound anger swelling inside him once more, just thinking about it. "It was Grissom. He…knew some things. And he didn't tell me."

Pen once again tangoed across legal pad. "I'm sure he knows a lot of things he doesn't share with you, Nick."

"Things about my kidnapping."

Doctor Bruning looked up sharply.

_See,_ Nick thought, frustrated. _Even the damned doctor can see the problem with that. Why couldn't Grissom?_

She didn't say anything, but motioned for Nick to continue. So he did.

* * *

Warrick sat, not sure what else to do. He sat in the break room, leaning his elbow on the table, cradling his chin in his hand. He was in before shift, much before, but had felt even more useless sitting at home.

The previous night, he'd had a feeling the entire shift that things were too calm. There should have been a breeze or something. A barking dog, a squeaking fence, rustling leaves. In reality, nothing but a nervous calm. Warrick felt a strange responsibility to fill the silence, attempting small talk on the way to the scene.

Nick had been driving, staring out the windshield in such a way to make Warrick think back to the episode Nick and Greg had, and was slightly unnerved. He kept glancing out the window to his right, making sure the trees and mailboxes were keeping a safe distance.

Satisfied Nick wasn't spacey, just focused, Warrick attempted conversation. "So…what did you want to talk to me about?"

Nick adjusted his grip on the steering wheel. He drew in a breath, holding it for a few seconds before letting it out slowly. "I don't like this."

Warrick nodded. There was no need for Nick to clarify; Warrick understood perfectly what he was saying. "Yeah. I'm not exactly sure how we got here, but it sure ain't a picnic."

"What did we do?"

Warrick laughed. "Shit, man, I don't even remember."

Nick smiled. "Me, either."

Warrick bit his lip. "You think we should keep it that way?"

Nick cocked his head. "I dunno. Pretending things didn't happen isn't any way to resolve them."

"True that."

"When we get back?"

Warrick nodded. "When we get back."

But there had been no talking when they got back to the lab. The weird case they'd been handed had taken the most unexpected turn possible. Kelly Gordon, murder suspect. Nick Stokes, CSI. It had been a rough night from the get-go, even more so after they found the tape recorder.

_Voice comparison, Nick, _Warrick though, shaking his head. _Great idea, really bad timing._

Warrick's anger wasn't properly focused on a single target. On the one hand, there was Gil Grissom, the obvious choice. The best friend's choice. Catherine had used her special ways to get enough out of the supervisor for Warrick to piece to together what had happened. Grissom had screwed up, royally. And he'd driven Nick away.

On the other hand, there was Nick, who had decided after a whole fifteen minutes to just give up. Warrick didn't understand. Yell, scream, get angry, sure, but just up and quit? It was bailing. When the going gets tough, the tough don't split. And after so many years, Warrick was endowed with an unwavering confidence the Nick Stokes was one of the tough. But in the instance, the tough bail.

And then there was his own inner dilemma – was he really angry with Nick or with himself?

Warrick figured the only way to get through the night was to stop trying to place blame. He settled on a feeling of general anger at the situation they were in and that at least allowed him to think more rationally when it came to the individuals involved. Grissom had done something stupid, and he wasn't changing his position on that. It could have – _should_ have – been handled better. Grissom had screwed up, and Nick had done something stupid.

It could have been handled a lot better.

Warrick sighed and rubbed a hand over his face, exhausted. He hadn't gotten any real sleep, instead lying awake, rehashing how he'd screwed up, too.

Sara had been yelling, and Warrick stayed in the background. They all took their turns, using their individual tactics, but not Warrick. He hadn't said anything, just stood there, still unaware of what was really happening. And then after he heard, he'd stomped right out the door, wanting nothing more than to be out of that mess.

Nick slunk out at the end of last shift without a word, and Warrick had heard the buzzing start after only twenty minutes. A buzz agreeing unanimously that Nick had quit. A few dozen unanswered calls later, Warrick started worrying. And the next shift confirmed his worry.

Catherine was the one who told them, and Warrick couldn't believe it when he heard. They'd gotten so close, and it was so quickly slipping away. Nick came in and there for a minute Warrick found himself bracing for another fight but instead he hadn't said anything. He stood there, then stomped out. Nick stuck to the lab that night, finishing their case while Warrick took on a new assignment and again managed to sneak out of the building before Warrick cleared his head and could get a hold of him.

Not this time. Warrick was waiting in the break room, staring at the object sitting on the table in front of him, the football he'd found in his locker. He remembered when things were easier, and the only tension between he and Nick was a friendly challenge here and there.

Catherine walked in suddenly, running her hands through her hair, looking as disheveled as Warrick felt. She stopped short when she saw him and made a halfhearted attempt to smooth her hair. "What are you doing?" she asked.

"Waiting for Nick to get here."

Catherine jerked a thumb behind her. "He's here."

Warrick frowned. "Where?"

"Down the hall."

"For how long?"

Catherine sighed. "I don't know, Warrick. I just got here."

Warrick stood, grabbing the football from the table, and moved past her, touching her arm lighting in both an apologetic and sympathetic way. She nodded and motioned for him to go.

He found Nicky only three doors down, sitting at a workstation. His back to Warrick, he was going over a report of some kind, pen poised in his right hand. "Nick."

Nick didn't look up.

Warrick leaned in the doorway of the small work room and sighed, frustration growing. He knew damn well Nick hadn't gone deaf in the past few hours. "_Nick."_

Nick jerked his head just the slightest, proof that he was hearing Warrick, but still ignored him.

Warrick glanced down at the football in his hands and gave it a light toss. The ball bounced off of Nick's right shoulder, finally causing him to turn, annoyed.

"_What?_"

"We need to talk."

"We already talked," Nick said coolly. "You didn't seem to have a lot to say." His accent was thick, angry and hurt.

He bent to scoop the ball off of the floor where it rested by his feet and chucked it behind him as he turned back to whatever evidence it was he was working on.

Warrick had to reach to catch the aimless toss and he brought it back to his side with a huff. 'Well, I've got things to say now."

"Sorry, I'm busy."

Warrick gave another frustrated sigh. "Can we do this outside?"

"Do what?"

"Whatever it is we need to do."

Nick gave a small laugh and twisted in his seat to face Warrick. "Is that a challenge?"

Warrick shrugged. "Take it however you want it." He gestured over his shoulder with the football. "Let's go."

Nick hesitated, sideways in his chair, and regarded Warrick with a squint.

Warrick wasn't going to ask twice, as it appeared he didn't have the time to afford to that luxury any longer. "Now."

He turned stiffly in the doorway, starting down the hall for the side door that would take him out to the small grassy area along the side of the building. Nick knew where he was going; they'd been out there many times before.

Warrick took up his position a good sixty feet from the door, and as soon as Nick emerged, he gave the football a healthy hurl in his direction.

Nick had to get his hands up fast to keep the ball from colliding with his nose. His frown deepened. "Do you have a problem?" as asked angrily, heaving the ball back at his friend.

There was enough force behind the throw to leave a slight sting in Warrick's hands when he caught it, and he shook out his right one briefly before slinging it back. "Apparently it's you who's having the problem."

Nick caught the ball, bending forward and cradling it to his stomach with an "oof." When he looked up, Warrick raised his eyebrows in some sort of challenge.

Nick grimaced, hurling the ball back with impressive force. "I'm just done with this bull, 'Rick. I needed to do something."

Warrick frowned as he caught the ball centimeters from crashing into his face. "And this is the best thing you could come up with?"

Nick turned his body to catch the ball against his side, scowling slightly. When he straightened, his face was set. "If you're gonna be my friend, then act like my friend, 'Rick. But don't act like you understand what I've been going through."

The words stung nearly as badly as the football had. Warrick didn't even respond; he barely let the football rest in his hands before whipping it back at Nick.

Nick tried to dodge it but was a hair too slow, and the ball connected with his jaw line. The ball, quickly forgotten, bounced out of the way. He glared up at Warrick and rotated his jaw. "You have it out for me or something this week?"

"You have it out for yourself?" Warrick shot back.

Nick's eyes narrowed further, until they were shining obsidian slits in a pinched face. He winced from the movement and rubbed his jaw. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"What are you tryin' to pull, Nick? What are you hoping Grissom does?" Warrick walked a few feet to his left and scooped up the ball.

"I'm not hoping Grissom does anything, Warrick. It's done."

Warrick tossed the ball back and forth between his hands, the weight of it keeping him grounded. He raised his eyes and tossed the ball back to Nick, lightly, maybe hoping its weight could somehow keep Nick grounded, too. "So that's it?" he asked as Nick easily caught the smooth overhand pass.

Nick shrugged indifferently. "That's it."

The ball sailed back into Warrick's hands, a perfect toss from a well-trained arm. It seemed like a joke, only it was one he wasn't in on.

Warrick looked down at the ball in his hands, at what it symbolized. "I can't say anything to change your mind?"

Nick caught the ball in his right hand and sighed. "It wasn't you, 'Rick."

"Doesn't feel that way."

"'Rick – "

"We can fix this, Nick. You can't just walk away." Warrick didn't care if it sounded like he was begging because, hell, he was. If things ended there, if Nick left at the end of the next week and never looked back, how was he supposed to live with himself, knowing he'd been such a stubborn ass?

Now it was Nick's turn to stare at the ball, and Warrick prayed Nick was seeing there everything that he had. Nick gave a slight shake of his head, and Warrick felt lighter. It wasn't a negative shake, but a 'what the hell am I doing?' shake, and it was all he needed to see.

Nick didn't want to do this. He knew there was another way and he wanted to find it just as badly as Warrick did. He'd acted rashly, fueled by raging emotions and a frustration with Grissom that seemed to have been hanging with him for months. Nick was trying to appear strong and confident in his decision to leave the lab, but Warrick knew better.

Despite the edge in Nick's voice, the uncharacteristic harsh words and attitude of late, Warrick was getting the feeling his friend was sinking, flailing, grasping for someone or something to hold onto and float back to dry land. And Warrick was done being the lifesaver that was just a bit too far out of reach.

"Then find it, 'Rick, but I'm done playing games." Nick gazed at the ball a moment longer before chucking it back to Warrick in a way that signified it was the final toss. "You've got a week."

Warrick nodded with renewed confidence. "I won't need it."

* * *

To be continued...


	16. Out of Order

_Chapter Sixteen: Out of Order_

Nick stared at the computer, not quite sure what it was he was trying to accomplish. Maybe he thought if he stared long enough, the information he was looking at would disappear as a favor. It wasn't as though he had the access to change it himself. All he could do was stare at the screen.

_New evidence logged, _said that computer screen. There was his employee photo, information he'd read a hundred times, and a few links he didn't have the stomach to click. Links that said _Walter Gordon_ and _Kelly Gordon_. It was the other one that was getting to him, though. _New evidence logged. Gil Grissom, Supervisor._

The words were mocking him, daring him to see what it was they held behind them, to uncover their secrets. But they weren't secrets, not when they were in the database for anyone with a goddamned password to see.

_I'm on display_, Nick thought, his hands growing cold. _Always on display._

He didn't know what it was that made him look up his file in the first place. Now that he was here, it became perfectly clear it was just one of those things. One of those feelings. One that turned out to be right.

_New evidence logged. Gil Grissom, Supervisor._ Nick Stokes, victim. On screen and on display for the whole wide world to see.

He was overreacting and he knew it. No one would look up his file without a good reason. It wasn't like people outside the lab were going to hack into the system to check up on him. Except, that had happened before, and Nick allowed himself a little paranoia. He had the right to be uneasy with it came to personal information left so carelessly in a heavily secured government system.

But really, he wasn't worried about the people on the outside, but those on the inside. The people who walked these halls and sat at this computer and looked through these databases on a daily basis. It was those who had access to the system, those who really knew him. It was his friends. He didn't want them to be able to open up his file whenever they wanted to and see this. Grissom had opened up his file, and had updated it. _New evidence logged._ He hadn't yet gathered the nerve to find out what the evidence was, he just stared at the computer.

_You're being ridiculous. Just click the damned button._ So he did.

"_Hi, CSI guy. You wondering why you're here? Because you followed the evidence. Because that's what CSIs do. So breathe quick, breathe slow. Put your gun in your mouth, and pull the trigger. Any way you like, you're going to die down here. Okay."_

That vile voice glided through the speakers and Nick swallowed, a pitiful attempt at calming his stomach, which seemed to be holding a gymnastics meet. He was reaching for the mouse, reaching to make the voice go away, when he heard it.

"_Perfect."_

How had he missed that? Probably because he'd been too busy panicking, staring at the pounds of dirt covering his field of vision. What little vision there'd been. It wasn't Walter Gordon's voice, the voice he still heard in his nightmares. It was a different voice. A voice that seemed strangely familiar.

Nick frowned, his queasiness over hearing the tape and the voice melting away into a tolerable discomfort as his thoughts drifted back to the current case. He'd found another tape recorder, with two new voices.

"_Your father loved you very much."_

"_A bit too much."_

Nick's trained, analytical brain started to put the pieces together. He had a lot of evidence at his disposal. Three voices on tape, and they were all connected. To him, and to each other. Kelly Gordon. Walter Gordon. Two names written in Sylvia Mullin's handwriting, in Sylvia Mullin's date book. Kelly Gordon. Walter Gordon. Two names connected to the victim. Connected to the case.

In that moment, he should have gone to Grissom and told him, and he knew it. He knew it then and he knew it now. He would be taken off the case, and the others would solve it. Case closed, evidence logged.

But Nick didn't go to Grissom. He went to Archie, wanting to see exactly how connected all of the voices were. He hadn't exactly had a strong hand in handling his own affairs the past few months, and wasn't going to so easily pass this strange bit of information along as well.

"It's Kelly Gordon's voice on tape. I wanna see if it's the other voice on the Walter Gordon audio file." Nick handed Archie the tape, somewhat stiffly.

The tech took the tape with a puzzled expression. "Grissom told you?"

Nick paused, midway to taking a seat next to the A/V tech. His heart hammered at lightning speed, and he frowned so deeply it hurt, focusing on that anger to cover whatever other emotions might be fighting their way to the surface. "No, but it's obvious he told you."

"Oh…"

"You know what?" Nick testily waved a hand. He didn't want to hear about it. Not from Archie. "Forget about it. If this girl's involved that means she's capable of murder. It's all cued up for you. Her voice is first."

Angry was an understatement. Nick was overcome with such a fierce fury he couldn't see straight, and a lot of that anger was directed towards himself. He had been so incredibly stupid. Going to Grissom, trying to making things better, vowing to be honest with the man and try to resolve their issues.

"_I just want things to get back to normal. And I don't want to be mad at you anymore."_

"_I don't want you to be mad at me anymore, either."_

"_I want to be open. With you, and with everyone. I want to be straight with you guys about what's going on with me. I don't want to keep things from you guys, because I think that's where all of this…crap, is coming from."_

"_That, that would be nice, Nick."_

_Do you know what else is nice, Grissom?_ Nick thought, fuming so furiously that he wasn't even paying attention to the voice comparison Archie was doing. _Not making people feel like complete jackasses._

"_Nick?"_

"_Yeah?"_

"_Nothing."_

He was going to tell him. Grissom was going to tell him, but he didn't, and Nick couldn't remember a time he'd been so angry. He bit down hard on his lip to keep from exploding.

Grissom had told Archie. Archie know more about Nick's case than Nick did. He wasn't mad at Archie; the tech was just doing what Grissom told him to do, like all of them. They were pieces in Grissom's little play set and he could do with them whatever he wanted.

Nick wasn't a play thing. He was a human being with emotions and he deserved respect, something he didn't feel he was currently on the receiving end of. Because Grissom knew, and Grissom didn't respect him enough, as a person, a man, a colleague, a friend…to come to him and tell him.

Nick pursed his lips and balled his right hand into a fist. Right after he'd told Grissom be was going to be open. God, he felt like a jackass.

He left the A/V lab, having heard what he needed to, although not exactly sure what he was going to do just yet, and stormed down the hall.

Straight into Grissom's office.

* * *

"It doesn't really matter now," Catherine said dully, voice muffled by her palm. She sat, chin in hand, elbow propped on the table, and had a look about her that Greg had never seen her: defeated.

"Yeah," Sara responded in an equally lifeless tone. She hadn't once looked up from the same spot on the table for the past ten minutes. "Sounds like he's made his decision. What do you expect us to be able to do, Greg?"

_So much for rallying the troops,_ Greg thought miserably.

It seemed that everyone was resigned to let Nick walk out the door on Friday and never look back. He had the sinking feeling if it happened then another one of them wasn't far behind. And then it would be another, and another, falling like a carefully placed row of dominos, and Greg couldn't let that happen. He was quite happy with where his life was and had the feeling if everyone started jumping ship he would be the last one, reaching out to everyone else until the last possible moment.

"I don't want to lose you guys," he said seriously, trying to make them understand the ramifications of just one departure.

Catherine straightened and cocked her head at him. "You're not losing us, Greg. And I'm sure Nick will keep in touch."

"Are you?" Greg asked. "Are you really sure? What if he just leaves?"

"He wouldn't do that," Sara said. "He's Nick."

"And everything that's 'Nick' is being seriously called into question, don't you see that? He's not the same guy, and not one of us has allowed room for that to happen."

The two women looked at him like he was crazy. "You're saying this is our fault?" Sara asked finally.

"I'm not saying that it's anyone's fault," Greg replied, exasperated. "But if we want him to stay, we're going to have to make some changes. We're going to have to give him some room."

Catherine laughed shortly. "We tried that. Don't you remember the blowout because we did?"

"I'm not talking about physical space," Greg tried to explain, growing more frustrated with their stubbornness. "I mean _room._" He made overly dramatic sweeping gestures with his arms.

"Face it, Greg," Sara said quietly, running her hands through her hair. "He's leaving on Friday, and we can't change it."

Catherine just looked at him and shook her head as if to say 'oh, you sad, hopeful little boy.'

"I'm gonna find a snack," Greg said, sighing deeply. He pulled himself up out of his seat. He couldn't sit and listen to it anymore. He needed some sugar, some energy, to think, regroup, and try again.

Greg headed for the vending machines, groping in his pocket for change. He victoriously came up with a pair of quarters and turned to the snack machine.

_Out of order_, read a handwritten sign taped to the glass.

Greg sighed, resisted the urge to kick the machine, and headed back for the break room. _Figures._

* * *

_Figures, _Nick thought, braking to a stop for the fifth straight red light on his way home.

He sighed, loud and long and full of frustration. It was a sign, it had to be. He was supposed to have made the right choice, and eliminate the source of all his stress. That had been the plan, but it felt so wrong.

Considering how the night could have gone, it had passed quite uneventfully. He worked yet another homicide with Greg, the only one who at the time had been willing to talk to him without begging or pleading. It helped that he didn't gaze at Nick with wide eyes and try to break him down. Greg had made a few attempts throughout the night, had put his two cents in, but he hadn't been overly annoying about it. Not at all like Catherine and Sara were being. Those two got the message by the end of the night and had sulked off, but it hadn't made him feel any better. Quite the opposite. And Warrick. Well, Nick's jaw was sore as hell but they'd parted ways at the end of shift on better terms that they'd been in weeks.

Grissom, well, he was floating somewhere in the middle, in the place Nick didn't want to think about. And yet he couldn't _stop_ thinking about it. A nagging voice in his head kept telling him that he was taking the easy way out. Ironic, since it was the hardest thing he'd ever had to do. And he'd had to do it, he was sure.

_When the going gets tough, the tough get the hell out of dodge, right?_ Nick shook his head at himself. _Of course, that's assuming you're tough, huh?_

Nick wasn't tough. He was tired and achy, inside and out. This job was tuning out to be more nerve-wracking than he'd thought possible. Guns, stalkers, graves, bosses, and now the Kelly Gordon thing. That was the kicker. And it was, like a kick to the gut.

"_Care why I did it?"_

_Nick was breathing heavily, staring down the infamous Kelly Gordon, staring at them with an air of confidence and smugness, like they weren't there to arrest her. Or maybe just like she knew it wasn't going to get that far._

"_Doesn't really matter now." Was that his voice? That hollow, heartless sound? Nick's words held volumes of truth. To Kelly, and to himself. He's made his decision. _Doesn't really matter now.

It wasn't her voice, _he told himself. _It wasn't her. You can't hate her._ And yet there were so many emotions, so much anger, and everyone who deserved to be on the receiving end of it was already dead. He would be happy to see her led away in handcuffs. _

_The apartment was small and stuffy, and Nick was starting to sweat, small drops sliding down from his hairline, a tiny, annoying trickle down the middle of his back. Something was off._

"_She told me my dad didn't leave me anything," Kelly spat out. _

_The 'she' had been the answer, the connection. The voice, that dreaded, new voice. _

_Nick's bad feeling was growing. Kelly wasn't acting like someone afraid to go to prison and saying anything she needed to, to get out of it. He'd seen that plenty of times, and this was something different._

"_He never would have done that. He loved me," Kelly continued. There wasn't a hint of regret in her voice. Not a hint she thought she'd done anything wrong._

"_So you _kill_ her?"_

_Nick glanced over at Sophia. He'd forgotten the detective was even in the room. At least she'd found her voice. Nick was standing still, feeling strangely dazed and paralyzed. Too many bits of information floating in the room for him to get a handle on any one. _

"_The ransom was her idea! She didn't get the money! She took it from me!" Kelly yelled this, and Nick realized she was yelling at him. _

_He remained oddly unaffected, staring blankly at her. Nothing she had to say was going to make a difference now. _Doesn't really matter now.

_Sophia shot a look Nick's way, and was apparently alarmed by what she saw. She frowned, started moving forward to end this tirade, hand reaching for her cuffs, when Kelly Gordon's eyes suddenly widened and her body stiffened. The woman fell back onto her bed._

_Sophia rushed forward but it was already too late. She yelled into her walkie as Kelly's body was wracked with violent spasms, and Nick was immediately freed from his trance. His eyes darted wildly around the small room as he ran to the table against the wall, spotting various pill bottles._

No, no, no_, he thought desperately. _Someone in this story's gonna pay for what they did._ Nick read the names on the amber bottles and called them out to Sophia._

"_She's ODing!" he called pointlessly over his shoulder, fumbling with the bottles. "Vicodin, INH, and methadone." _

_Nick turned to where Sophia was huffing, attempting to administer CPR, but he could already see it was a hopeless cause. He looked down at the bottles in his hands and took a stumbling step back, colliding with the table._

_There was nothing left. There was no one else. Grissom had wanted it to be over, and he got what he wanted, just like always._

_Nick stood back against the table and watched Sophia as she tired from the pointless effort to save Kelly Gordon. He could have taken over, but it wouldn't have helped. _Doesn't really matter now.

_A few more moments and Sophia made a small, frustrated sound, and Nick knew it was done. Over. _

_The detective pulled her hands away and flexed her fingers. She looked at Nick and shook her head slightly, wiping a hand over her forehead. _

"_She's gone," the detective said. "It's over."_

_Nick nodded. It was over in more way than Sophia knew. He looked down and realized he was still holding the pill bottles. He had all of the pieces. He knew all of the answers. And still. _Doesn't really matter now.

Turns out, it did matter, and more than he wanted it to. He was amazed he'd made it this far. It really was the hardest thing he'd ever had to do, with the possible exception of pretending he didn't care. Like it didn't hurt. It hurt, bad, but Nick kept telling himself it was the right thing. It was what he needed to do.

And it had been working well enough to get him through the week, but Warrick had managed to break something down in him that night. Brought all of the emotions up from where they'd been safely hiding, and he'd admitted his doubts. Not in so many words, but he'd given Warrick the opportunity to try and salvage something, to fix things. To fix him, although he wasn't sure it was him that needed fixing this time. It was Grissom, and the man wasn't exactly broken, but maybe had a piece missing.

Through all of the anger, frustration, exhaustion, and disappointment, or maybe despite it all, Nick hoped he found it. Immediately as the thought crossed his mind, the light turned green. As did every light between that intersection and his house.

* * *

Gil looked up, startled, at the sound of approaching footsteps. He half-expected to actually see Nick come stomping in again. Or maybe he just half-hoped it. Since dropping that bomb on him, Nick had been avoiding Gil like he carried some form of airborne disease. Who was he kidding, maybe he did. Was stupidity contagious? What about careless abandonment of your friends in their time of need?

At any rate, it wasn't Nick, but Warrick, who barreled in, slightly rumpled and winded, slamming the door behind him.

"Have you figured it out yet?" he demanded.

"Figured what out yet?"

Warrick was not to be trifled with, not in the bottom of the ninth. "What you're going to do to get Nick to stay."

Gil sat back heavily. "Warrick, there's nothing I can do."

"That is _not_ true." Warrick walked back and forth in front of Gil's desk. "All this is, is a cry for attention." He stopped and faced Gil. "Your attention."

Gil shook his head. "No."

"Yes, Grissom. You haven't been around him nearly as much lately. He doesn't want to do this."

"Well, those are two different things."

"I can't stand here and believe you're just going to let him walk out of here. Damn it, Grissom, it's Nick!"

"I know that, Warrick!" Gil said loudly. He wasn't who was more surprised by the outburst, Warrick or himself.

Warrick recovered in the blink of an eye. "Then why aren't you doing anything about it? You're holed up in here like the sky is falling." He frowned. "There isn't anything out there that can hurt you, Gris. There's more damage being done by your keeping out of it."

Gil regarded the other man silently. Everything Warrick was saying was making sense, but he wasn't sure he was capable of fixing the situation they'd found themselves in. Too many coinciding events had chosen the exact wrong moment to happen.

The B and E. The tape. Kelly Gordon. Things that separately could possibly have been easily overcome, but one right after another, and with Gil in the picture…well, he always managed to take a bad situation and make it exponentially worse. He definitely didn't know how to fix this on his own.

Warrick's frown deepened at the lack of response. "Just tell him that you want him to stay."

"It's more complicated than that."

"How do you know?"

"Because I tried that," Gil said quietly.

_He stood in the doorway and glanced down at his shoes. He was positive Nick knew he was in the room, and had been for the past few minutes, and yet he was ignoring him, focusing his full attention on checking his gun and getting ready for the night's shift. His regular routine was taking much longer than usual. _

_Nick checked the cartridge on his gun a little too pointedly and Gil felt a bit uneasy. Maybe he should wait for Nick to put the gun away before he tried to speak with him. "Nick."_

_Nick's eyes ticked over briefly, and he returned his attention to something inside his locker. "Didn't see you there," he said hollowly._

_Gil had a feeling in his gut that he wasn't actually doing anything, just stalling. It wasn't a good sign, and he wasn't about to waste any more time. "Nick, I know a lot has happened to you in a very short amount of time, but we can work through our – "_

"_Grissom?" Nick interrupted, turning toward him. "Could we not have this little lecture moment right now? It's not really how I like to start my night." He punctuated the statement with the harsh bang of his locker shutting and moved to leave the room._

_Gil grabbed his arm as he tried to pass. "Nick, I want you to stay."_

_There was a beat, during which Nick stared at the hand on his arm. _

"_Why? For what?" Nick finally asked._

_And again, Gil couldn't seem to find the words Nick wanted to hear. "We need you here," he said, hoping to relay the collective thoughts of his team. Thinking maybe that would help things._

_Nick gave a small, sad smile. "You guys did fine without me over the summer, and you'll do fine without me now." He pulled his arm away and walked heavily out into the hall._

"Then you try again," Warrick said harshly, bringing Gil back to the present. "And again, and again, and again. You do anything, _anything_ you need to, to keep him in this lab, you hear me?"

Such an outburst was not unprecedented. He and Nick were closer than anyone else in the lab, and he was likely to be the most affected by Nick absence. Or would he?

Gil sighed. "I can't make Nick's decisions for him."

"This is the wrong decision, and you know it."

"Yes."

"What?" Warrick asked, pausing in his pacing.

"Yes," Gil repeated. "It's the wrong decision. It's wrong for him, and it's wrong for us. I know that, Warrick."

"Then why aren't you doing anything about it?"

"And what would you like me to do? Nothing I say to him is going to change his mind." Gil was resigned to that fact. He'd tried to the best of his abilities to reach out to Nick lately and each time it'd gone more horribly than the time before.

"All we can do is try to make the best of the rest of the week," he said softly, and it pained him to say it.

Warrick's anger was fading away; Gil could see it in his eyes. "You're wrong, Grissom. You're so wrong. Anything you say to him is going to change his mind. Tell him what he means to us, but more than that, what he means to you. And you gotta show him, man."

Warrick had chosen just the right words to do it. To click everything into place and pick up on one of Gil's most secret insecurities.

"_What does Nick Stokes mean to you?"_

The question he'd heard in his head over and over and over again. He thought he'd known then, but he hadn't. Not really. How many times was he going to have to almost lose his CSI before he could articulate the words? Not another time.

"_You haven't been around him nearly as much lately."_

He heard it clearly, it was as if Warrick had said it again. Gil looked up at Warrick, standing statue-still, still breathing somewhat heavily, and he started to formulate a plan.

* * *

To be continued...


	17. Tiny Voices

_Chapter Seventeen: Tiny Voices_

_It just now hit me this is more than just a setback_

_And when you spelled it out, well I guess I didn't get that_

_And every trace of momentum is gone_

_And this isn't turning out the way I want_

_And after all of my alibis desert me_

_I just want to get by; I don't want nothing to hurt me_

_I had no idea where my head was at_

_But if my heart says I'm sorry, can we leave it at that?_

For the first time, Gil was very aware of how quiet his office was, and the noise he heard in the silence was unbearable. A room he so often sought for a moment to himself, a moment to think, and here now that room was too quiet.

He heard every scratch and scritch from across the room, from the shelf of terrariums. He heard the low purr of the ventilation system over his head. He heard the electrical buzz in the bulb of the lamp on his desk. And the worst of it: his own nonstop thoughts, the loudest and clearest of all.

"_What does Nick Stokes mean to you?"_

Over and over again. Not just Walter Gordon's voice; his own, and Warrick's, Catherine's, Sara's. No matter how many times he heard the words, they were never easy to hear.

The first time he'd been asked that question, he hadn't answered. He had a perfectly plausible reason in facing down a madman mere moments from his own self-inflicted demise only trying to unhinge him, but after so many months had passed the fact still remained that he hadn't answered. Answering that question would have made him appear weak, maybe. Vulnerable. More defenseless than he was already. Because letting your feelings show was opening the door for an attack. Not to mention, wildly unprofessional.

And so here he sat, an old man well-trained in keeping his emotions buried deep enough to keep up the cool exterior at all necessary times. Which was all the time. The one thing he needed now was to focus on those emotions. To focus on what he felt and thought, and he had to find a way to communicate these things to someone who probably didn't give a damn to hear it.

Warrick, the man with the plan, said otherwise, said all it would take was Gil to open up. Said Nick quitting was nothing but a plea for attention.

Impossible situation, easy solution. Except it wasn't so easy. Gil had the answers; he always had an answer for everything. More often than not, however, words failed him, and he let opportunities pass him by. He let moments pass him by, moments he could never get back.

It wasn't nearly as easy as Warrick made it out to be. Nick wasn't a child throwing a temper tantrum because he didn't get a snack after naptime. He was a grown man, hurting, and looking for a way out of that pain. Every turn Gil took seemed to be the wrong one, leading him to another dead end.

Keeping the tape from Nick had been an easy decision, whether he wanted to admit it to himself or not. He hadn't really even thought there was another option. He'd received the tape, taken it to Archie, and that was it. Nick had seemed to be moving on, barreling back into his work at full steam, and Gil hadn't wanted anything to stunt his recovery and return to full-time work in the lab. It had seemed like a good plan at the time, and a thoughtful one, at that.

And that was the brick wall he'd come crashing into. It hadn't been a good plan. Turned out, Nick would have wanted to know.

"_Seriously, Grissom, how the hell hard would it have been? 'Nick, I just wanted to let you know, there's another voice on the tape, and I'm trying to find out who it is'."_

It wouldn't have been so hard. And in retrospect, _plenty _of retrospect, Nick had deserved to know as soon as Gil had the tape in his hands. Another moment passed and gone and not available to do over. There was no point in dwelling any longer, because that wasn't going to help the situation.

Gil looked out into the hallway, ears perked for the low drone of voices but in their old age, they couldn't isolate any individual comments. He glanced around the lonely confines of his office and let out a small sigh. All the times he'd been shut up here, thinking of the constant interruptions from his team and the others in the lab as mere annoyances, and now he found himself actually hoping someone would come in. He'd even left the door open. If David Hodges walked into the room at that moment, he might even let the man stay for longer than a minute and a half before asking him to leave. And even then, he might ask nicely.

In the air of the hallways was a hum of gossip, rumors, and random bits of truth. They were all blaming him, and hell, they had a valid reason. It was his foul, and now he had to fix it. Gil looked down at the coffee cup in front of him, and for the first time in a good long while, longed for it to be filled with a fragrant, oaky red wine as opposed to the brown sewage the lab provided and called coffee.

"_What does Nick Stokes mean to you?"_

If he knew the answer to that, then they wouldn't be in this boat. If Gil could just figure it out and find a way to communicate it to the younger man, things would be working out differently. For one, people wouldn't be looking at him like he ran over their dog.

"_You're wrong, Grissom. You're so wrong. Anything you say to him is going to change his mind. Tell him what he means to us, but more than that, what he means to you." _

Those were the words to finally kick his uselessly intellectual brain into gear.

"_You haven't been around him nearly as much lately."_

Warrick's words in Catherine's voice. Her perpetually scolding tone. Gil frowned as his mind rearranged and recalled the happenings of the past few weeks, working through them at warp-speed, and came to a crashing stop where it all started. That damned B and E.

"_He wants more than the solo, Gil."_

It hadn't been about the solo at all; it had always been about showing Nick what he meant to him. As a CSI, as a friend, as whatever, it all came back to what Nick meant to him. Now he had to figure out _how_ to do that.

It was Catherine who predictably seemed to have all the answers.

"_You know what I've noticed."_

_Gil still refused to look up at her. "That we're at a crime scene and should be focusing all of our attention on collecting evidence?"_

_Catherine rolled her eyes. To pacify him, she grabbed the mini-flashlight out of her kit and started walking the perimeter of the space. "I've noticed you haven't been working a whole lot of scenes with Nick lately."_

_Gil shot an irritated look her way and she raised her hands defensively. "I'm just saying."_

Gil shook his head. That was Cath, all right, always just saying.

Just saying the right thing to annoy him, and just saying the things that, if he ever chose to listen to her in the first place, would have provided some of the answers for him. Instead he dismissed her comments as they came, doomed to mull over them at a later date.

Gil pursed his lips, glancing over the night's assignments. It Nick didn't fight him on it too bad, he might just have a way to get them through this, and part ways Friday night as the same team they'd always been.

* * *

Nick sighed, idling wishing to be a piece of furniture. Not something as important or noticeable as the couch, but perhaps a table. And now that he was thinking about it, maybe just one leg of a table, that way no one in the room would be paying any attention to him, and he wouldn't be struggling to hide the whirlwind of emotions threatening to split his chest in two. He stared pointedly at a spot on the linoleum floor, avoiding the eyes watching him, the voices chattering at him.

He thought he'd gotten through to them, but Catherine and Sara were driving him completely insane. Nick had been careful to be the first person in the break room that night so everyone could sit where they pleased without all of the uncomfortable, unnecessary worry about where he was going to sit and what it meant. He'd sat at the table, staring at his hands until the others began to arrive. The women strategically and very quickly plopped on either side of him before Warrick or Greg had the chance to run interference, and he was now being subjected to one of the most pathetic attempts at a guilt trip he'd ever had the misfortune to be party to.

"You know," Catherine was saying, speaking slowly as though calculating her words and his possible responses before he even had a chance to think about one himself. "They're going to have to find someone to take your place on the shift."

Nick didn't trust himself enough to respond, not with the cornucopia of emotions he was wrestling with. He wasn't sure which would be the first to fight its way to the surface. He bit his lip and nodded.

Sara raised her eyebrows, joining in the festivities. "Who do you think it's going to be?" she asked Catherine.

"Ecklie might bump Steve Meyers from Days," Catherine said with pointed unhappiness, as though she knew what she was talking about.

Sara made a small disgusted sound. "That's no good."

Catherine shook her head. "No, it's not." She turned her wide eyes back to Nick. "He'll never be able to replace you, you know."

"_You know?" "You KNOW?" "YOU know?"_

Guilt tripping 101; trying to get a response out of him, preferably that would make the other person feel better regardless of your own feelings. Yes, he knew. She didn't need to say it again and again and again.

Nick squinted at his special spot on the floor, allowing himself only another small nod. But as far as he 'you know'ed, no one was talking about replacing him, not yet anyway. They were simply switching tactics. This very special guilt trip was a result of the fact they'd very gotten the message that yelling at him wasn't going to get anything done. Despite his best efforts to remain unaffected, they were slowly starting to break him down. Steve Meyers was an absolute moron, and Nick marveled at the fact the man still had a job in the department and it would over his dead body, or in this instance relocated one, that he would take his spot on Graveyard.

Nick frowned and pretended the spot on the floor said something interesting. His desire to transform into an inanimate object intensified as he tried not to fidget in his seat, and the others continued.

"No matter who it is, things just aren't going to be the same around here without you."

_You know?_ Nick added in his head.

Sara, sidekick cape and tights firmly in place, again nodded her agreement and shot a big puppy-dog-eyed pout at Nick, which he saw out of the corner of his eye. "We're really going to miss you, you know," she said.

Nick thought for second his head might really finally explode. He didn't even nod, just closed his eyes and brought his hands up to rub his throbbing temples.

"Would you two please give it a rest already?"

Oh, so Warrick _was_ in the room. He'd been so quiet until now, no one had really noticed him. _Lucky._

It worked. Greg gave a muffled snort from somewhere behind Nick and Catherine and Sara's escapade was cut short. Catherine crossed her arms and sat back in her chair, squinting at Warrick. Sara only huffed lightly.

Nick looked up for the first time in twenty minutes to shoot a grateful look his friend's way, and Warrick nodded.

He could only look up for so long, thought, and resumed staring at that speck on the linoleum lest anyone think he was willing to talk, because he really wasn't. It was hard enough to think about what was happening, and the reality of the situation was, he didn't know. He didn't know what he was doing or how he was feeling about it. It would be so much easier to make it through the remainder of the week with blinders firmly in place. The blinders weren't working as well as advertised, though, because Nick didn't have to be looking at Warrick to know that his friend was still looking at him.

He'd slipped up. The other night, outside the lab with nothing but the two of them and the football, he'd slipped up, let his resolve fade and his weakness show, and given Warrick a window.

Nick glanced up in spite of himself and saw the look in Grissom's eyes as the man entered the room. He knew instantly that Warrick had already set a plan in motion and involved the supervisor. _God help us all._

* * *

When Gil entered the break room, armed with assignment slips and a strategy, he couldn't help but notice the seating arrangement of his team.

Warrick leaned against the wall opposite him, attempting a casual pose but Gil felt tension radiating from the man. He was keeping a watchful, though not at all discrete, eye on Nick, as well as giving Catherine and Sara a disapproving glare. Greg perched on an arm of the couch, even though it was unoccupied and he could have sat on the cushions if he wanted. Being as it was Greg, Gil didn't give it too much thought. He just figured Greg, like Warrick, was trying a little too hard to appear casual, staying in neutral territory.

Nick, Sara, and Catherine were seated at the table in the middle of the room, the hostile area, the women flanking Nick on either side, and Nick looking absolutely miserable. He raised his eyes as Gil entered the room, and although there was still visibly lingering resentment there, there was also a small bit of pleading. _Get me away from them, Gris_, his wide brown eyes seemed to implore.

It was a moment from months, maybe years, ago. A moment Gil had been unceremoniously dropped into, but he understood his role. He would chuckle at the look, eliciting some sort of attention to Nick's expression from Cath or Sara, and Sara would huff and give him a playful shove, and they would all share a small, easy laugh. Gil almost quirked a smile, both from the thought and the look, but it went unnoticed; Nick quickly averted his eyes, ducking his head back down. The rest of the group remained just as quiet.

_Might as well get down to business._ Gil cleared his throat. "Sara, I have something small for you. Suspicious circs."

Sara's right eye twitched but she nodded. "Okay."

_One down._ "I've got arson at a warehouse downtown," Gil continued, perhaps a bit too loudly. "It's gonna take a few more bodies."

_Quick glance around the room, like you don't have this planned out._ "Warrick, Catherine, why don't you guys take Greg with you on this one. I'm not sure he's worked an arson." It almost sounded natural.

It was good enough for Warrick, who grinned widely and moved to take the assignment slip from Gil.

"You bet," he said, giving Gil a light punch to the arm as he passed him in the doorway, causing him to take a stumbling step back.

Catherine laughed as she rose to join Warrick, looking equally pleased with Gil's decision. "What was that?"

"I'm not entirely sure," Gil said slowly.

Catherine and Greg moved out to catch up with Warrick's quick steps, Sara joining them, and then it was show time.

Somehow, Nick had managed not to look up since his initial reaction to Gil's entry into the room.

"Solo, huh?" he asked, his head down. Gil had a feeling there was more he wanted to say, but Nick bit his lip.

"No."

Nick's head snapped up, and he looked at Gil with eyes screwed up in confusion and, dare he hope, relief. It vanished quickly, replaced with a scowl. It seemed Nick was getting extremely good at manipulating his face to expose the emotions he wanted, and to hide the ones he didn't.

"You don't need to check up on me," Nick said. There was a brief pause. "You know?"

"I know," Gil said, keeping his voice soft and steady. Things weren't exactly off to the great start he'd been hoping for.

He took a few steps forward and set the paper on the table in front of Nick. "Homicide in the North Carefree housing edition. We'll leave in five."

Nick read the paper, made a sound Gil assumed was a resigned sigh, and made a movement he guessed was a nod. "I'll drive."

_Take what you can get._ "Okay."

Nick made another bobbing gesture with his head. "Okay."

* * *

"That worked out pretty conveniently, didn't it?"

Warrick shot a look at Catherine as he hopped up into the driver's seat and pretended not to know what she was talking about. "What do you mean?"

Catherine climbed into her own seat and gave him a knowing smile. "Come off it. You know what I mean."

Warrick fought to suppress his grin. It was way too early to start getting excited. "We'll see," he said, buckling his seatbelt and giving Catherine a wink.

"Did I miss something?"

Warrick glanced at Greg in the rearview mirror. "Always, Greggo." He took the truck out of park. "Just sit back and enjoy the ride."

Catherine let out a breath and patted Warrick's hand absently. "It'll work out," she said in a tiny voice, and Warrick wasn't sure if she was speaking to him or simply reassuring herself. "It'll work out."

* * *

If Gil had thought his office to be quiet, it was nothing compared to the car ride to the scene.

Nick was silent, driving just as he'd wanted, white-knuckled hands gripping the steering wheel firmly at the perfect two and ten o'clock positions, a true testament to the stress he was under. His arms were straight and stiff, and Gil swore if he held his own posture that tightly he would be stuck that way for a good long while. His back ached from just looking at Nick, and he hated that he was the reason for all of that stress, or was in the very least contributing to it.

The tinny voice coming out of the radio sounded like an older and vaguely familiar country tune. Gil lightly tapped his fingers on his thighs in some semblance of beat he could pick up from the low volume. _Two things you can do now,_ he thought, very aware every additional minute passing silently was another minute he wasn't going to get back. _Talk about it, or talk about…not it._ There were no do-overs, just do-betters. _Make a move._

Gil swallowed and said the first thing that came to mind. "Have you given any thought as to what you'll do?"

Nick glanced over for a fraction of a second and then back to the road. He let out a sigh and raised his eyebrows. His hands shifted just slightly in his death hold on the wheel. "No, haven't really thought about it," he said thickly. "Might just take some time off."

_He's talking to you. Always a good sign._ Gil shifted in his seat. "You know there'll always be a place for you here."

Nick's eyes narrowed a touch, his shoulders slumped just the slightest. Gil's own back relaxed as well.

"Yeah," Nick said in a small, tired voice. "I know."

For the moment, Gil didn't feel the need to say more. They rode the rest of the twenty minutes in silence, and he strangely felt these silent twenty minutes weren't for waste, as all the others had been.

* * *

To be continued...


	18. Role Reversal

_Chapter Eighteen: Role Reversal_

For a single homicide, the scene was unprecedentedly chaotic. A whirlwind of law enforcement officers swarmed the front yard of the stereotypically suburban ranch-style brick home and the whole front of the house was lit up with brilliant light; red and yellow and blue and white, coming from the spinning domes atop various emergency vehicles playing border patrol at the curb. Something he'd encountered a hundred times and in this instance, it was truly a headache-inducing image.

There were so many vehicles already on the scene that Nick had to pull the CSI truck to a stop in front of a yard two houses down. He threw it into park, pulled the key out of the ignition, and practically leapt from the driver's seat. He opened the back door to retrieve his kit and met Grissom's eyes through the opening as the older man did the same.

There was a look there Nick couldn't quite interpret, and he wasn't sure he really wanted to try. He couldn't help feeling there was something fishy going on with this whole assignment. Grissom had avoided him at scenes for months, let alone worked a case alone with him. He wanted to know what Grissom was trying to do, wanted to know if this was one of those 'for old time's sake' kind of deals. He really didn't know if he could handle that at the moment. He couldn't be all smiles and laughs and reminisce about fond crime scene memories. _I remember one time, there was a blood spatter pattern that looked just like this. Wanna be friends again?_

Nick grabbed his kit and started in the direction of the house, adjusting the bill of his baseball cap. At just the right angle, he couldn't see Grissom's expression as the man continued to stare him down.

The pulsing lights increased with every step closer to the house and the remainder of his earlier headache throbbed in time with each flash. Even Nick's teeth hurt. As they drew nearer, Nick risked jerking his head in greeting to Jim Brass, standing perplexed in the middle of the yard as a man in a set of blue satin pajamas yelled at him.

"It was him! I know it was him!" The man was in near hysterics.

Brass tried to be sympathetic but was obviously overwhelmed by the situation, especially when the man suddenly broke down into sobs, latching onto the lapels of the detective's jacket, and pulled him into a somewhat leaning position. Brass patted the man awkwardly on the back, attempting both to calm him and to stand up straight.

Nick pinpointed the reason for the breakdown immediately. David and another M.E. emerged from the house solemnly guiding a gurney across the threshold. Resting atop the stretcher was a black body bag.

_His wife, _Nick thought, already feeling a pang for the grieving husband. He tilted his head, pressing his lips together. His kit suddenly seemed much heavier in his hand. This was the worst part of this job, and not something he would miss.

"The victim," Grissom observed quietly, somewhere to Nick's right.

Nick's eyes narrowed and his head jerked involuntarily in Grissom's direction. "Yeah," he said hollowly. With that, he wordlessly took the steps required to cover the remaining ground between them and Brass.

An older couple, also slippered and pajama-clad, gently took the arms of the weeping man and led him off to a corner of the yard, further away from the body. Presumably his neighbors, they spoke softly to him as the trio moved slowly across the dewy grass.

As they moved away, Brass caught the eyes of the CSIs and wearily nodded his head. "Hey, Nicky. Gil."

_Nicky._ All this time, and Brass still hadn't gotten that memo. Or he had, and chose to ignore it, something that seemed a very Jim Brass thing to do.

"Hey, Jim," Nick said, plastering on a big 'ol classic Nicky grin the detective was sure to be expecting.

Brass frowned slightly, not so easily deceived. He was, however, smart, and a good friend, and he let it go. "You guys ready for a long night?" he asked, eyebrows raised.

_No, _Nick thought. _Really not._ He resisted the urge to drop his kit and again rub furiously at his temples. "What do you know?"

Brass squinted and looked down at the pad of paper in his hand. "Mr. and Mrs. Barnett. Kevin and Laura. Two little girls, four and six. Husband placed a 911 call about forty minutes ago. Said he and his wife were hearing strange noises coming from outside the back door, and they were worried about a possible burglar."

Nick nodded. He finally gave up, lowering his kit to the ground, and placed his hands on his hips. He squinted and scanned the front of the house. "What did PD find when they responded?"

Brass cocked his head and raised his eyebrows, as if to say 'weeelll,' and gestured to the gurney being hoisted into the back of the Coroner's van.

Nick frowned. That explained the excess of vehicles. Two rounds of emergency response. Too bad that information wasn't going to help his throbbing head. "What has the husband said?"

Brass flipped the page on his pad. "Masked man broke the window in the back door and entered through the kitchen. We're assuming the motive was burglary, but never got that far. Mrs. Barnett, plucky little woman she apparently was, grabbed a baseball bat from the hall closet and ran to the kitchen before Mr. Barnett could stop her." Brass paused. "He said he didn't even make it to the doorway after her before he heard the gunshot."

Nick sucked in the breath, instantly understanding what would make a woman throw caution into the wind like that. "The kids," he said to himself.

Noticing the other men watching him, he cleared his throat. "Sounded to me like Mr. Barnett has an idea who might have done this?"

As Brass started to answered, Nick realized that Grissom had yet to ask a single question of the detective. In fact, he hadn't spoken a word since their arrival, only stood silently a few feet behind Nick, letting him take the lead. He frowned and cast a sideways glance at his boss. Not that he was complaining, it was just very…un-Grissom.

As Nick was noticing this, the look in Grissom's eyes said he was noticing that Nick was noticing, and not listening to what Brass was saying. The supervisor spoke up rather quickly. "What was it he said he heard this kid say, exactly?"

Nick turned his attention back to the detective, struggling to focus on what was being said instead of what wasn't.

Brass sighed and shook his head. "I don't know. It's been pretty hard to understand the poor guy. I caught something about a threat, but we might be able to talk to him more easily tomorrow. You know, give him some time."

Nick nodded, but he couldn't help feeling that it wasn't going to make a difference, no matter how much time they gave Kevin Barnett.

Time. It was always the obvious, however wrong, solution.

* * *

Jim had been feeling out of the loop for a while now. Oh, he knew what had been going on, all right; the colossal mess that had become the close-knit group of CSIs making up the Graveyard shift. He also understood why his input hadn't been requested. He wasn't really technically a part of the team, and this was something they needed to work out themselves. Uncle Brass's job was to be there when they needed him, not to jump in and meddle when they didn't. They would fix it. He had enough faith in his CSIs to know and trust that much. It would just take some time.

Unfortunately, time wasn't something they had an excess of. Any fixing that needed to happen, needed to happen in about three days, or that was it for the family he had here in Vegas. That family was threatening to break off, piece by piece, unless they all shaped up. They were trying. Nick and Gil were there together, but that didn't mean it was easy. Jim had in front of him one of the most uncomfortable moments he'd ever had to bear witness to.

Nick Stokes was a good kid who'd been put through more bull than any single person should ever have to endure. A good kid who'd finally thrown up his hands and yelled 'Enough already!' at the rest of the world. And he couldn't be blamed for it. He was grown, and had free will, and could do whatever he wanted.

Gil Grissom was a good man who tried to do the right thing, who thought he _was_ doing the right thing despite the way it came across, and always seemed to come up just a hair short. A good man stacking up a sizeable amount of IOUs for things like this very situation. He was here now with Nick, trying to make things right, and Jim firmly believed if there was ever a time he was going to succeed, it was now.

Despite his faith in his friend, Jim had a feeling in the pit of his stomach that this was bigger than Gil Grissom. There were things that Gil needed to accept, to learn, and to put out there, but there were certainly things Nick needed to accept, to learn, and to face up to. The Poor Nicky party had been in full-swing long enough. Nick didn't need the pity and attention, just the opposite. He was recently prone to being uncharacteristically hotheaded and at times downright stubborn. It was time little Nicky faced up to whatever was weighing him down, too.

As he looked at his friends, Nick keeping his distance and Grissom keeping a watchful eye and silent demeanor, Jim Brass couldn't help but be disappointed in the both of them.

* * *

The next afternoon, Nick stepped into the break room rotating his neck, grateful for the satisfying _pop_ he finally felt and heard after trying to release the tension for what seemed like forever. He'd spent the previous night working a scene quieter than any he'd worked before. Grissom had tried to reach out to him at the house, and Nick recognized that, but still wanted to know what it was exactly Gris was doing.

Nick was hearing the little voices in the lab starting to say all of the things he'd expected to hear, like that he was trying to get special treatment and attention. Like he was a freaking child or something.

Nick shook his head. People just didn't understand; it was about the complete opposite of attention. It was about…he couldn't even remember anymore. All he knew, he'd been angry. Angrier than he'd been in a long time and did what had made sense at the time. With only two days left, it wasn't making so much sense anymore. That's what his job was for, to keep him grounded, and hell, he was throwing that away, too. Why? Because of a bruised ego?

Nick dropped to the couch more than sat on it, and held his head in his hands.

"Nick?"

A hesitant voice, one sounding an awful lot like Grissom.

"Yeah?" Nick answered without looking up, voice muffled by his hands, somehow not caring how vulnerable he might appear to his boss. His resolve was slowly fading as it was.

A hand touched his shoulder, removing itself just as quickly. "We need to get going."

The police station. They had to interview the husband. Mr. Barnett, a broken man left with two little girls and the inevitable funeral costs. Nick hadn't even found out the girls' names. He really wasn't up for this interview, didn't know if there was enough room left inside himself for another person's problems. "Can I meet you there?"

"Sure."

"Okay. I'll meet you there."

"Nick?"

A pause, and Nick thought he was actually going to hear the word 'Nicky' come out of his boss's mouth.

"Are you okay?"

"_Are you okay?"_ How many times in the past months had Nick heard those words? He'd lost count a long time ago. But this…this was different. Grissom's voice was different. It wasn't patronizing or condescending, or laced with any kind of subtext. It was just different.

Was he okay? Laughing would have been an appropriate response. Nick didn't know which way was up or down, whether he was coming or going, or what in the hell Grissom was trying to do with this case. With him.

Nick drew his face out of his hands and looked up into a face filled with genuine concern for his wellbeing, and for once, not hiding anything from him. He just stared and shrugged.

* * *

Phase One of the Brilliant Plan to Get Nick to Stay was working with him on a case. A simple enough plan to start, to let Nick know he wasn't avoiding him, that he wanted to spend time with him, and provide an opportunity to give some encouragement regarding his abilities as a CSI. Gil had heard repeatedly that he was lacking in that respect.

Phase Two he'd stumbled upon and put together at the scene that night. Gil was a very intelligent man, and he hadn't gotten to the position he was in now because he wasn't observant. He'd seen and interpreted the look Nick had shot him when they'd arrived at the scene.

"_The victim,"_ Gil had said. A perfectly plausible observation upon reaching a crime scene. See the victim, make note of it.

_Her. _

The "victim" was a her. Not an it. A wife, a mother, a daughter, a sister and there, right _there_ was a bulk of the problem with Gil, at least in Nick's eyes. Gil lacked that empathy Nick possessed, that ability to deeply connect with someone after knowing them less than ten minutes. That inability to see not a faceless corpse but a real person and to connect with the loved ones left behind.

Gil had been doing this job long enough, he had seen what happened to people, to former coworkers and friends, after years and years of making that connecting with every assignment slip that passed through the lab. But if Nick thought he was strong enough to take that one, who was Gil to take that away from him. Nick had proven time and time again he was stronger than anyone gave him credit for, and Gil hoped this would be another of those times, because he couldn't bear to watch Nick lose himself in the victims.

That look from Nick had spoken volumes. Gil didn't get it, and Nick didn't think he ever would. But Gil _did _get it; he'd blocked that range of emotion from his repertoire a very long time ago. It was something else at the same time; it was a crack in the wall Nick had been so busy putting up around himself.

Phase Two was put into motion at the police station, when he and Nick met with their victim's husband, Kevin Barnett, to try and start to piece together what had happened, as they hadn't been able to collect much evidence at the house. The killer had taken the gun with him and worn gloves and a mask.

When Gil approached the interrogation room – a horrible name for this situation, but it was what it was – he wasn't surprised to see Nick was already there, but _was_ taken aback by the sight of the two men sitting silently at the table. Nick was always speaking with the witnesses, building up that confidence with them.

Nick was seated in one of the metal chairs across from Barnett, in a different version of that worn-down posture Gil had gotten a peek of back in the break room at the lab. His arms were crossed in front of him on the tabletop, bracing himself, and he looked as though without that extra support he'd slide right off of his chair into a puddle on the floor. He looked up as the door opened but Mr. Barnett didn't seem to have noticed, dropping his gaze to his lap.

"Mr. Barnett?" Gil began, stepping into the room. "I'm Gil Grissom. Do you remember me from last night?"

Barnett looked up and nodded. "Have you found that bastard? Sean?" It was the name he'd given Brass the night before, but their work throughout the day hadn't produced anything substantive, not yet.

Gil shook his head as he took a seat, not in the chair next to Nick, but the one next to Barnett. It was gesture enough to cause Nick's eyebrows to jump, but he stayed silent.

Barnett looked away. "I don't know what my girls are going to do without their mother."

Gil paused for a moment, contemplating his next move. He had to show Nick he wasn't the heartless stone statue that people thought he was. The thought entered his head that if he did this, he would be using the man next to him as a way to get to Nick, but he was growing desperate.

"Mr. Barnett…Kevin." _Have you even ever tried that before?_ "We're going to find out who killed your wife, and they're going to go to jail."

Gil maintained eye contact with the man, making sure his words were being taken to heart. "They're going to pay for this. I promise you."

"_Say 'I promise.'"_

He was significantly more composed than he'd been at the house the night before, but Kevin Barnett's eyes were still lined with the tears he was struggling to keep at bay. Gil's words had the desired effect.

Kevin managed a small, maybe even relieved, smile. "Thank you, Mr. Grissom."

Nick's eyes narrowed and he straightened in his chair. "We're going to do our best, Mr. Barnett."

Gil ignored Nick's tone, the one saying 'what kind of drugs is Grissom on?' He smiled his most reassuring smile and reached out to Barnett, setting his hand on the man's arm. "We'll find the guy."

* * *

Catherine was walking down the hall, thumbing through a report on their ongoing arson case, when she came upon Warrick in a comical, and comically enticing, position. His lanky body was pressed tightly against the wall outside of a workroom in a sort of half-bent stance, head cocked to the side, a look of intense focus and concentration on his face.

Catherine shut her folder and cast a quick look around the hallway, an amused smile on her lips. Her heels clicked lightly on the tiled floor as she moved slowly up behind him.

"Whatcha doin'?" she asked in his ear, causing him to jump.

Warrick braced a hand on the wall and turned to her with a wide-eyed expression of surprise. He recovered instantly and emphatically waved his other hand, shushing her.

"What?" Catherine whispered, huddling closer.

Warrick's eyes narrowed and he brought a finger to his lips. He jerked his head to the side, gesturing to the doorway of the room of which he was lurking outside of.

Catherine moved up beside him and pressed her own ear as close to the doorway as she could without being completely on top of him. Once she got close enough, she could hear what it was Warrick was listening to so intensely.

"How long have they been back here?" she asked in a hushed voice, the report she'd been reading completely forgotten.

Grissom and Nick had headed to the police station almost immediately after arriving at the lab and been gone longer than she would have thought, and she didn't realize they'd gotten back.

"About fifteen minutes," Warrick responded in an equally hushed tone.

"How long have you been out here?"

"About five minutes."

Catherine strained her neck a little further along the wall to try to make out the words that Nick and Grissom were saying. "What are they talking about?"

Warrick turned his head. "Shh," he ordered quietly.

Catherine rolled her eyes and leaned over his hunched form. She remained quiet, trying to hear what was being said in the room.

"I was being empathetic."

"You were being…"

"What?"

"I don't know. I just have a bad feeling about this."

"About what?"

There was an audible sigh from Nick. "I don't know, Gris. I just…you shouldn't have said those things to him. Not when we don't even have a clue who shot his wife."

"We have a clue."

"No, we have a hunch. And there's no physical evidence to support it, man."

Catherine frowned. "Are they impersonating each other or something?" she whispered in Warrick's ear.

Despite the tension, she heard him stifle a small chuckle.

"Seriously," she said quietly, encouraged. "Are we role-playing now? Should I go vegan and drop Lindsey off with Sara?"

She and Warrick were too busy trying to control and quiet their laughter, they didn't hear Grissom come to the doorway until he cleared his throat.

Catherine looked up and immediately realized how ridiculous the two of them must look, crouching outside the door. She straightened quickly and Warrick followed suit.

"Hey, Gris," Warrick said, running a hand over his hair. He moved just enough to peek past Grissom's shoulder. "Nick."

Though she couldn't actually see him, Catherine judged from Warrick's grimace that Nick was about as amused as Grissom.

"How's the case coming?" she asked, smiling innocently.

Grissom crossed his arms. "Why don't you tell me?"

Warrick coughed. "I think I'm…gonna check with Hodges. See if he's made a match yet on that…yeah."

"I think that's a good idea," Grissom said flatly.

Warrick's head dropped like a scolded schoolboy and he walked off, picking up his pace as he rounded a corner, placing himself out of glaring range.

Catherine held her folder in front of her, and shifted her weight. "Yeah, I think I need to check with Hodges, too."

Grissom quirked an eyebrow. "Yeah."

"Well, see ya," she said quickly, and clacked her way down the hall, as well.

Catherine shook her head. They'd taken advantage of a light moment, but hadn't taken into account that it wasn't so light for the parties involved. She frowned. Obviously, something had happened. And her naturally curious nature really, really wanted to know.

* * *

It had never been Gil's intention to cause Nick the kind of mental torment he apparently was. He'd only thought maybe if they worked together again, maybe showed he was able to show a little compassion, maybe it would be enough.

He was slowly starting to realize there was no way this was all about him, not with the way Nick was now acting. Seeing him looking so beaten down in the break room had been one thing, but seeing him now, slumped in a chair in one of the lab rooms, the complete opposite of the man who only twenty-four hours earlier was gripping a steering wheel so tightly Gil feared he would snap it in two…it was eye opening. He didn't necessary need to _show_ Nick anything, he just needed to be there for him. He'd been directing his stab at empathy at the wrong person.

"Nick?" Gil called softly from the doorway.

Nick jumped and turned quickly. "Jesus, Grissom," he said shakily.

Gil cringed. This wasn't really starting out that well. "How's the case going?"

Nicks shrugged, and cracked a small smile. "I was just with you. You know how it's going." He turned back to his work.

Gil nodded, smiling as well. "Things are good?" he asked, leaning casually against the doorframe.

Nick bobbed his head a few times, not looking up. "Yeah, things are good."

"With the case?"

Nick looked up from his papers, mouth and eyebrows quirked slightly. "Yeah…"

"Okay. Good." Gil scratched at his beard, thinking maybe he hadn't thought this plan through as well as he'd previously thought. They weren't getting anywhere, except closer to Nick's final shift.

Nick returned his attention to the reports and photos, not willing to expend so much energy keeping eye contact. His pen tapped nervously on the tabletop and Gil could tell he wasn't really paying attention.

His theory was proven valid when Nick's head snapped up again suddenly. "Did you need something?"

Gil crossed his arms. "It didn't seem like the interview went all that well."

Nick shrugged, continuing to tap his pen. "It went fine."

"You seemed mad about something."

Nick smiled and shook his head. "I wasn't mad. Just…I don't know. Caught off-guard."

Gil pulled himself up off of the doorframe, moving further into the room. He stood in front of the table where Nick was working. "How so?"

This moment was basically the point of his little interview experiment, the moment he'd been hoping would come up, but now that he was faced with it, Gil found himself unaware of how to approach it. He wanted to show Nick that he could communicate with people and if given the opportunity, connect with them. That he was capable of caring. Instead, he apparently came out looking like a crazy person.

"I was being empathetic," Gil said, surprised to hear his voice taking on the defensive edge he'd heard so many times coming from Nick.

"You were being…"

"What?"

Nick shook his head. "I don't know. I just have a bad feeling about this."

"About what?"

Nick sighed. "I don't know, Gris. I just…you shouldn't have said those things to him. Now when we don't even have a clue who shot his wife."

Gil's eyes narrowed involuntarily. "We have a clue."

"No, we have a hunch. And there's no physical evidence to support it, man." Nick turned back in his chair, shaking his head at the reports on the desk in front of him.

Something about the moment struck him, and Gil wasn't sure what to say. But then he heard someone behind him say it for him.

"Are they impersonating each other or something?"

Catherine. Her voice floated into the room ever so quietly, and Nick turned back towards the door, eye narrowed, angry. There were two voices wafting into the room, and the faint sound of light inappropriate laughter.

Gil felt his cheeks burn as he took a few steps towards the door. He didn't look back at Nick, afraid he really would see himself in those once vibrant brown eyes.

* * *

To be continued...


	19. The Best Part of Believe

_Chapter Nineteen: The Best Part of "Believe"_

Nick might have been feeling a little, or a lot, less like himself lately, a little worn down, but his ears were still in perfect working order, and they burned as they picked up Catherine's remarks and the light laughter she shared with Warrick at his expense. He supposed it wasn't really that offensive a comment, and maybe his friends needed a little humor to lighten the mood - and to be quite honest, they weren't necessarily wrong - but he was still left annoyingly embarrassed and agitated. Like it wasn't bad enough he was so disoriented that he could barely follow what he was saying, but here he was, hearing that he was sounding like Gil Grissom. He needed that like he needed shot in the foot.

Thankfully, he wasn't the only one left embarrassed by the comments and laughter. Grissom certainly took his time turning back to face him, shifting his weight uncomfortably when he finally did.

This time, it was Grissom who averted his eyes, who found his safe spot on the floor to stare at. "I'm going to check with Jim and see where we stand with getting this Sean Ammerman brought in to the station."

Nick nodded. It was just as well. Maybe if he was left alone he could actually get some work done. "Let me know."

Grissom paused in the doorway. "It's just something I'm trying, Nick."

That came out of left field. _What the hell?_ Nick didn't even know if he cared. So what if Grissom threw on the empathy switch for once; that wasn't his issue.

"Why?" He would have been happy with squinting, maybe just frowning, but the word flew out of his mouth without his permission. Something about his subconscious was annoyingly attached to Gil Grissom.

"Because it works for you." Grissom spoke so matter-of-factly, it was like he was reading a statement from a textbook. Like just because he was saying it, it had to be true.

_No, _Nick thought, slightly shaking his head. _It doesn't work for me, because I catch shit for it. Always have._ He hadn't even found out the names of Kevin Barnett's little girls. He didn't know why he hadn't, didn't know why he'd been so withdrawn on this case.

Nick squeezed his pen so tightly on his hand, his fingernails dug into his palm. He wasn't sure if he was meant to respond to such a ludicrous statement, if he was supposed to feel awestruck by Grissom's thoughtfulness. _What do you want from me, Gris?_

Nick looked down at the shoe treads spread on the tabletop in front of him. He'd lifted them from the kitchen floor in the Barnett house. It was the closest thing to evidence they had on this trying case. Trying in more than one way, and one of those ways was staring him in the face right now. Or would be, if Nick ever brought himself to look up again.

Nick swallowed. Grissom was still staring, he could tell. Everyone was always staring at him. _Always on display._

Grissom made the decision for him. "Come and get me if you find out anything."

"Okay," Nick replied thickly. He didn't have to respond. He didn't have to worship.

Grissom left the room and Nick glared down at the print of the show tread, and the catalog of treads next to it. He couldn't seem to focus. If it always took him this long to find a match, then he was a pretty piss-poor excuse for a CSI. _Well, you don't have to worry about that for too much longer, do ya?_

Nick threw his pen down onto the desktop and rubbed his eyes. He didn't want to think about anything ever again. He just wanted to be left alone, with no one staring at him, talking to him, watching and waiting for him to make a move, playing games with his head. He just wanted to shut the door and sit at the table and solve the damned case. That's all he owed to anyone.

_Shit._ Maybe he really was turning into Grissom. Or maybe he just finally understood the appeal of a quiet room to yourself when you head was buzzing with so much noise you were afraid it would just spin right off your neck.

And maybe he had more to learn than he thought.

* * *

"Hey, man, get off me!"

Sean Ammerman was not at all what Jim had expected. For a suspect whom Kevin Barnett was so sure had murdered his wife in cold blood, Sean was a wiry, pimply kid who looked to be about nineteen years old, certainly no more than that, and it was taking something that could hardly be called force to keep him under control as he was led into the police station. Despite his size, the kid was still putting up a fight. More of a fight than he would expect from someone claiming innocence.

"I didn't do anything!" he yelled at Jim as the two officers gripping his skinny arms led him past the detective and into an interrogation room.

Jim cast a sidelong glance at Nick, standing to his right. "They always say that," he remarked drily, with a smile.

Nick stared blankly at the door the kid and officers had gone through, no visible evidence on his face that he'd even heard the comment. Or, for that matter, that he was even aware what was going on around him.

Jim frowned and reached out his hand, touching the CSI's elbow. Nick simply turned his head, blank stare still in place.

Frown deepening, Jim gave Nick's elbow a light squeeze. "Hey, kid. You okay?"

Nick shrugged. "Why wouldn't I be?"

_Which reason do you want today?_ "You look a little…" Jim trailed off, not even able to articulate what he was seeing in Nick's drawn face.

Nick turned his head away and mumbled something that sounded like, "Like Grissom."

"What?"

"Nothin'. Let's get this over with." Nick stepped forward and entered the room.

Jim was taken aback by this new Nick he'd been seeing lately. This was not a Nick Stokes attitude to have with regards to a case. But then again, the kid had been through a lot lately, and he dealt with things the way he dealt with things, and Jim wasn't in any position to judge. That didn't mean he couldn't be concerned – that was Uncle Brass's job.

He stayed in the hall a moment longer, moving down to the window into the interrogation room, and watched as Nick sat down across from Sean.

* * *

Nick had a look like he was starting to go stir-crazy sitting in the lab, so Gil had given him the opportunity to get out for a bit, and go to the station to interview Sean Ammerman. The fact still remained that Nick was better with people than he was, even murder suspects. Usually. There was the incident with the McBride case, and Gil had attributed that uncharacteristic outburst to the fact Nick had gotten too close to the little girl, though she'd still been missing at that point. Maybe he was right, maybe he was wrong.

Whether he'd been right or wrong in that instance, this was another chance to show Nick some trust and respect with regards to his abilities as a CSI. Letting him interview the suspect, the only name Kevin Barnett had been able to give them. A kid from the neighborhood whom he'd said had made some threat after Kevin had accidentally backed into him pulling out of the driveway the previous week.

Turns out this was just another good deed gone unseen, and it didn't really matter who'd conducted the interview, because they'd come up empty. Nick had been back for a little over an hour and Gil hadn't heard a peep out of him. He could only assume their case was slowly going to hell in a hand basket. But the case wasn't the only thing he was worried about.

Nick was quiet. Too quiet. He looked tired, and…done. Like whatever was going on inside his head was too much and he'd put the 'out to lunch' sign up on his forehead.

Gil was no longer floundering for ideas. He didn't need ideas or theories or plans. He just needed to be there, because there were things needing fixing, and it was going to take more than just called a man by his first name to show Nick that he was capable of compassion. And Kevin Barnett was not the person he needed to be compassionate towards. They would wrap up this case, no more antics, and then Gil would talk to Nick and see where they stood.

"Grissom?"

It almost startled him, hearing Nick's voice. Almost, except he'd been watching his door like a hawk. "Yeah, Nick. Come in."

Nick stepped into the office, holding out a paper. Gil could make out the lab's seal in the top left-hand corner. A report. The purpose of this visit was their case, and nothing more.

Gil took the paper and frowned, scanning its contents.

"Sorry, man, but everything we've got is inclusive." Nick sighed and crossed his arms. "We've got nothing to hold the kid."

Gil set the paper aside and rubbed the bridge of his nose, pushing up his glasses. This wasn't happening. "This is our only suspect, Nick."

Nick nodded. "Yeah."

"This is the only name we have."

"I know."

"I told Mr. Barnett that we were going to find the killer."

"I know."

There was more of an edge in Nick's tone this go-round. A thinly veiled accusation, a need to know what the hell Gil was thinking. And Gil didn't know _what_ he was thinking, and he got it. He looked up into Nick's face and he _got_ it. He understood how it felt to be on the other side of this lecture. How he came across to other people, from the edge in those two words. He knew he'd messed up.

_How do you do it, Nicky? How do you do this?_ There was a reason Gil didn't do the kinds of things he'd stupidly done with Kevin Barnett. More than the fact it was unprofessional, but because life was unpredictable, and the very second you opened your mouth to tell someone you were going to make everything better was just beckoning the powers that be to screw with you.

Gil was certainly being screwed right now. He pondered the evidence they had, which was very little. Shoe treads, and that wasn't going to catch a killer. "Can you trace the purchase?"

"Of the shoes? It'd be pointless. We'd get too many hits to be able to sort through."

"What about the warrant?"

Nick shifted his weight from foot to foot and Gil knew his chances of hearing good news was growing worse and worse. "It's already served. Checked all of Sean's shoes and came up with nothin'."

Gil pressed harder on his nose. "What else do we have?" he asked, and was answered with silence. "We have nothing?"

Nick swallowed. "Gris, we have a killer we're only assuming is male, who took the murder weapon with him, wore a mask, gloves, and a very popular pair of sneakers…"

"Which we can't find in the possession of our only suspect," Gil finished. "So we have nothing."

"Yeah," Nick confirmed quietly.

Gil drew his hand away from his face and looked up at Nick. "I told him we were going to find his wife's killer."

"I know."

Gil continued to pull at the loose strings in his mind, unconsciously rubbing at his beard. "What about his alibi?"

"Checked out. He was at work until midnight."

"You talked to his boss?"

Nick sighed patiently. "Yeah, Gris. I've done this before."

"I know, I just…"

"I know."

Gil sat forward in his chair. "I should talk to him."

"Yeah."

_How do you do this, Nicky? Why can't I do this?_ Gil waited for the 'I told you so,' but it never came.

Nick stood for just a moment longer, arms still crossed. He rocked back a bit on his heels. "Is that it for this case?" he asked hesitantly.

"I don't know," Gil said, shaking his head. "For now, I suppose. Unless we find something else."

Nick nodded slowly, and Gil saw it in his eyes. It could very well be their last case together, and it was a bust. The bad guy beat them.

"I could go back to the house," Nick offered with a small attempt at a nonchalant shrug.

Gil took a breath. "I think I should talk to Kevin Barnett before we do anything else."

"Yeah."

* * *

It was a slow night, nearing one in the morning, and there were less than a dozen vehicles spotting the parking lot outside of the police station as Gil made his way out of the building. He shoved his hands into the pockets of his CSI windbreaker and exhaled deeply, his breath clouding in the cool night air.

It hadn't been the most pleasant trip to the station. Things were harder when you tried to connect with people, especially when you did it for the wrong reasons. Gil guessed he'd never really understood until now the weight Nick carried with him, trying to make that connection with everyone he met.

Kevin Barnett had sat silently while Gil spoke. While he told him that he'd said things he shouldn't have, that they didn't have the answers, that they didn't have a suspect, and it didn't look like they were going to be able to catch the killer. He saw more staring back at him in those unblinking, lifeless blue eyes. Those eyes were telling him that they were horrible CSIs, and he was a horrible person, and just wanting to know _why_.

Kevin had left the station about forty minutes earlier, and Gil had stayed behind, just to sit and think. However, the plastic chairs along the hall of the station weren't ideal for quiet reflection, and Gil had finally managed to force himself to leave.

Gil paused about ten feet from his vehicle. He didn't want to go back to the lab and have to face Nick, not like this. Not after this. What he really wanted to do was walk around aimlessly in the cool, crisp spring night air and attempt to get his head back on straight. Figure out what he'd done wrong, done right, and shouldn't have tried to do at all.

"Mr. Grissom?"

* * *

Nick trotted down the front steps of the crime lab, taking them two at a time, and rotated his neck. He was doing that a lot these days. He surveyed the parking lot. Grissom was supposed to have made a quick run to the station to speak with Kevin Barnett and should have been back already, but his car wasn't in the lot.

Nick glanced at his watch and sighed. It had been well over an hour, pushing two. No new cases had come in and his help hadn't been needed by any of the others, so Nick had literally nothing to do. He was ready to take off for the night, but needed to talk to Grissom before he could do that.

More had happened in the past two nights than he'd thought possible. It was like a soap opera, Grissom trying to act like Nick, Nick apparently behaving like Grissom…and it wasn't working for either of them. If that wasn't an afterschool special in the making, Nick didn't know what was.

_Walk a mile in someone else's shoes,_ Nick thought, shaking his head. Nick got enough exercise, thank you very much. But still.

Nick walked over to his truck and leaned stiffly against it. He closed his eyes and knocked his head back lightly against the window, maybe hoping to knock some sense into himself. There was no way he was going to be able to leave things like they were; it wasn't who he was. Grissom was trying to say something, to make a gesture, and he should at least stick around long enough to see what exactly his boss was trying to do. Nick unlocked the door and hopped into the driver's seat.

Maybe if Grissom hadn't decided to head home, he could still catch him at the station.

* * *

Gil had to squint to make out the figure standing on the other side of the car. The dusky yellow glow of the parking lot lighting wasn't exactly ideal for peering into shadows and identifying faces. But this face was familiar. "Mr. Barnett?"

"She was my life," came the reply. Low and calm, and Kevin Barnett began to move around the front of the vehicle with slow, heavy steps.

Gil swallowed, eyes narrowing further. This wasn't what he was good at, as had already been established. He couldn't comfort this man. "Mr. Barnett, I'm very sorry for your loss – "

"Are you?" Kevin asked coldly, cocking his head. "Are you _sorry_?" he spat. "Or is that just what they teach you say to calm us down?"

Gil exhaled deeply. He could hear Nick's voice in his head, saying the things he never really would. _What were you thinking, Gris? This was all a mistake. I told you so._

"I am truly sorry, Mr. Barnett. I know how this must seem. I never should have said those things – "

"What things? That you were going to find Laura's killer? That he was going to pay? That you _promised_?" Kevin Barnett was no longer speaking in a low, steady tone. His voice was gaining in both volume and pitch, and Gil took an unconscious step back.

"And what now?" Kevin continued, taking another heavy step forward to match. "You tell me that you can't find her killer? Her _murderer_. So what do I have now? I have nothing. I have no justice. No peace of mind." He paused, a dark glint in his blue eyes. "How does that make you feel? It might have been easier, if hadn't said those things."

Gil was speechless. Even his mind was blank. He couldn't think of anything to say to this man. "Mr. Barnett – "

"What happened to 'Kevin'? Was that just to shut me up, too?"

He shouldn't have even tried, because the man in front of him, slowly stepping forward to match every step Gil took back, was not be reasoned with in this emotional state.

Kevin Barnett raised his right hand, and Gil raised his head, eyes widening. Comfort and understanding weren't at all what this man was looking for.

* * *

The feeling hit Nick the moment he got into his truck. He settled in the seat, reached with his key for the ignition, and had just _known._ Something was wrong.

Nick tapped his fingers nervously on the steering wheel as he waited at a red light. He wasn't sure what had him so nervous, he just had a bad feeling. Like he wasn't where he was supposed to be, and something somewhere was wrong. The light turned green and Nick hit the accelerator like he was street racing, peeling away from the intersection, leaving an older couple to glare through the windshield of their Ford Taurus.

He was only a mile from the police station when the feeling intensified so much that Nick's breath hitched in his throat. Whatever it was, it was bad. His foot twitched then reflexively pressed harder in the accelerator. Pulling up alongside the station parking lot, Nick could make out two figures standing beneath one of the lights. It was Grissom and someone else he couldn't identify. It didn't matter who it was, because the other person raised an arm and something in his hand glinted in the light.

_Gun._ That was Nick's first and only thought as he swung the truck into the parking lot with impressive control considering the speed with which he was managing the heavy vehicle.

* * *

How frustratingly fitting and ironic this was happening in the parking lot of the police station. There were officers with weapons only about two hundred feet away, but it seemed a world away right now. No one was close, no one was hearing or seeing any of this. He was alone.

Gil raised his hands slowly and steadily, even with his chest. Not that he needed to assure Kevin that he wasn't a threat. Hell, he was unarmed. And an old man. There was no threat there.

In situations like this, Gil's voice had never once betrayed the panic he felt, so he was not surprised to hear his own voice float out into the air, cool and calm and collected as ever. "Mr. Barnett, there's no need for this. You need to put the gun down, and we can talk."

Kevin was obviously unsure and inexperienced with the weapon in his hand, though he held it firmly and kept something of a steady aim. He might have run right out and purchased it after leaving the station, or had it safely tucked away at his house in a drawer somewhere, but either way Gil was certain the man had never held a gun before, let alone point it at another human being. He didn't utter a sound, simply shook his head.

"Mr. Barnett. Kevin – "

Gil was cut off by the screeching of tires as a large black SUV took a hairpin turn into the lot.

* * *

Nick didn't think about the cell phone on his belt or the radio in his glove box. He didn't think about calling for help. He didn't think about what he was going to do. All he thought was, _gun._

Nick jumped out of the truck and found his own gun in his right hand before another thought could run through his mind. Both Grissom and the other man, who turned out to be Kevin Barnett, much to Nick's surprise, turned to him with wide eyes. Nick didn't look at Grissom, because he could just imagine the look he would get in return. _No, Nicky, go back inside. You shouldn't be out this late. It's past your bedtime._

He didn't look at Grissom. He couldn't look at Grissom.

Nick stepped forward, holding out his free hand in a non-threatening manner. "Mr. Barnett," he said, marveling how steady his voice sounded when he was sure it should be shaky. He was certainly feeling anything by calm. "I know you're in pain, but this isn't going to solve anything."

"Neither is he," Kevin said, voice just as surprisingly even. For a man who had seemed to be so utterly broken only hours before, neither his grip nor his aim faltered.

Grissom's eyes darted between the two men, hands still raised.

Nick's heart thundered so loudly, he was sure the other men could hear it. He swallowed, with difficultly. "Mr. Barnett, you need to give me the gun."

Déjà vu, anyone? At least he was one of the ones with a gun this time. Nick felt his stomach flop from the familiarity of the situation. And the irony. Their roles were reversed again. Gil Grissom the victim, and Nick Stokes the rescuer. He wasn't sure it was a role he fit into.

Kevin shook his head slowly, tears of rage and despair filling his blue eyes. "You have no idea," he said through clenched teeth. "No idea."

_Wanna try me?_ Nick adjusted his grip on his gun just the slightest. Not enough to draw any attention to it, just enough to keep a hold of it. His palms had begun to sweat and he didn't want to drop the firearm and give Kevin Barnett an opening neither man knew what he would do with.

"I do," he found himself saying, so softly it went unnoticed by Kevin. But not by Grissom.

The older man's hands lowered slightly as he focused his full attention on Nick, lips parted like he wanted to speak.

"He lied to me," Kevin said to Nick, gesturing at Grissom with the gun. "He betrayed me. He told me things that I wanted to hear, but it was all lies."

Nick's shoulder twitched and he had to adjust his grip on the gun again. "I know," he started, and found the words catching in his throat. It seemed he had more in common with Barnett that he'd thought.

He took a breath and rotated his body just enough to put the blurry outline of Gil Grissom into his field of vision but would not, could not, look directly at him.

"I know it might feel that way," he said, speaking to both men at the same time. "But it's not true. Kevin, he…" Nick bit his lip and struggled to swallow. He refused to focus on Grissom but could feel that piercing gaze. "He did what he thought was right. He was trying to help you."

Nick felt like he was talking to himself. There were two unstable people with guns in that parking lot, after all. _He was trying to get to me. He was using you to get to me._ Nick fought to maintain eye contact with Kevin. He couldn't look at Grissom. Not right now.

Kevin Barnett barked out a short laugh. "Help? _Help?_ Is this how you people help? By building up someone's hopes and then just…just…" He shook his head, lost in a little world of pain all his own. More tears rushed to his eyes, and Nick saw him lower the gun just a fraction.

Encouraged, Nick's fingers tightened on his own weapon and he took a careful step forward. "Mr. Barnett, this is no time for that gun." He reached out his left hand, keeping aim with his right. "Just let me have it, okay?"

Kevin's hand jerked, face hardening. "But someone needs to pay," he said in a choked voice.

Nick nodded. "Yeah, someone does."

_No, no, no, he thought desperately. Someone in this story's gonna pay for what they did._

"But not him." Nick took another step, keeping Grissom out of his direct line of sight. "He didn't do anything to you," he said quietly. "He just did what he thought was right."

"Nick – "

It was the first thing Gris had said since Nick had jumped from his truck, and Nick silenced him with a quick look. _Not now, Gris. Let it go. Close your ears. Close your eyes. Just let it go._

Nick turned back to Kevin Barnett. "Just give me the gun, okay? We'll get back on the case. We'll go over every bit of evidence again, and we'll do our best to find your wife's killer, okay? Just let me have that gun."

Kevin stared at him for what felt like a lifetime, thought it was only a moment or two. A minute or two in which Nick's heart galloped and his head buzzed. And he couldn't look at Grissom.

Finally, Kevin bobbed his head in a small sign of acceptance and his right hand went limp. He held out the gun, and Nick moved forward quickly to take it.

"You okay, Gris?" he asked, not taking his eyes off of the man.

"Yeah, Nick," Grissom answered slowly.

Nick nodded, no longer trusting his voice. He reached out and gripped Kevin's elbow firmly. "We're gonna go inside for a bit, okay?"

Kevin Barnett's head bobbed again. Nick nodded, himself, and started for the double doors to the building. He couldn't look back at Grissom, and Grissom didn't follow.

* * *

To be continued...


	20. Miles to Go

_Chapter Twenty: Miles to Go_

Nick sat. He wasn't really sure what else he was supposed to do, which was pretty funny considering. In no way was it the first time he'd been part of a situation like this. None of it was new. Not the gun, not the emotionally unstable person wielding it, not the presence of Jim Brass and/or Gil Grissom…but this was different. It was the first time Nick hadn't been on the other end of the gun, the first time he wasn't the one needing saving.

His brain didn't seem to be willing to carry out any higher levels of processing at the moment, so he sat in the hall and waited for it to catch up to him. There was something stiff and uncomfortable about sitting in one of those chairs where loved ones waited for news, good or bad, where people waited to be processed. Nick didn't want to be processed, he just wanted to sit. So he slid to the floor, crossed his legs, leaned his head against the wall, and sat.

Brass came up and stood next to him. Just stood with his hands in his pockets, and he knew the detective was worried about him. Something about Jim Brass: he didn't just stand, and there had never been a time Nick could recall when the man had been rendered speechless. He always had something to say, but not now. He just stood, so Nick just sat, and stared at the detective's shoes. You could tell a lot about a person from their shoes, and Brass's were so shiny, Nick could practically see himself in them.

The two of them, though the conversation was mostly one-sided and carried on by mostly Brass, had spent a decent chunk of time talking to Barnett. If the man was an emotional mess before, there were no words to describe what he'd become over the course of the night. He was a blabbering mess, and didn't seem to really understand what had just happened in the parking lot. Nick sure understood the feeling.

He and Brass had a little pow-wow in the detective's office and, without Grissom's vote, came to the consensus the supervisor wouldn't want charges brought against the man. Brass was still plenty pissed at Barnett and had a uniform escort him to a cell for the night, for him to calm down. It was now well after two in the morning and it felt like he'd been there forever.

Nick couldn't take the sitting and the standing and the silence any longer, and he looked up at Brass, craning his neck to do so.

"We did it wrong," he said quietly. Nick wasn't sure where the words came from, but they came from somewhere inside of him, low and honest.

Brass gave him a small smile and with a sigh and creaking knees, lowered himself to the floor next to Nick. "I think that's an understatement," he said, just as low and honest.

Nick nodded and glanced down at the floor, studying the pattern in the tiling. There were a lot of things being understated lately, or not stated at all.

"You know I'm not the one you need to talk to."

Nick looked over sharply at Brass. Maybe that was the reason he was still sitting there. Delaying the inevitable. The talk, and the questions. Heaven forbid, maybe even the answers. He knew what he was supposed to do. He knew what was expected of him. He knew what the questions were going to be. It was the answers that scared him, because he couldn't give the same answers he'd been giving the past few months. And for his sake, he couldn't _hear_ the same answers he'd been hearing for the past few months.

Nick guessed his stare wasn't really all that blank because Brass smiled knowingly and jerked his head towards the doors. Nick started to stand, to stretch his legs, to leave, to run…it was still up in the air, and he paused when he felt a hand on his arm, frozen in an awkward crouch.

"Everything'll be all right, kid," Brass said in that perfect way of his. It was stern enough to be a command, yet gentle enough to be taken with the comfort and understanding with which it was meant. It was just Brass, and it just worked.

"Sounds good," Nick mumbled noncommittally.

No matter how much better Brass made him feel, he wasn't ready to believe the clouds were about to open and a rainbow was going to stretch over Vegas. He knew better than that.

He paused, sensing the captain had more to say on the matter, as they always did, but the man simply smiled widely.

"I'm never getting up off this floor," Brass said, shaking his head.

Nick laughed lightly and held out a hand to help the poor man up. Brass thanked him and, rubbing his knees, started down the hall. Nick watched him leave before setting off in the opposite direction. He wasn't sure where he was going to go, just heading out because he was done there. 'Home' was a very appealing thought.

Nick's walk out of the building was stopped short as soon as he pushed open one of the double doors leading out of the station, and he stood holding it open. It wasn't that he hadn't given any thought as to where Grissom had gone to over the past hour, he just hadn't expected to stumble upon the man sitting on the steps right outside the building. He figured Gris had gone home, had _hoped_ he'd gone home. He wasn't ready for the talk.

Nick wordlessly released the door and let it swing shut behind him, clicking loudly into the latch and announcing his presence.

Grissom looked up, startled by the sound, but didn't speak.

Nick stared back silently for a long moment. "Were you waiting?" he finally asked. It was an odd thought, but he didn't know what to do with his hands. He let them hang limply at his sides.

Grissom gave a small nod, his own hands fumbling with themselves between his knees. "Yeah." It was a voice so small and unsure Nick had trouble believing it was coming from Grissom.

"Okay." And with that, Nick found himself taking a seat next to his boss on the cold, concrete steps.

They didn't say anything for a good long while, just stared out at the parking lot or at some piece of gravel that had made its way to the steps, carried on the bottom of a shoe. Nick watched a few cars pass on the highway, oddly fascinated by them.

Grissom swallowed, and threw the first pitch. Underhanded and lofty. "Thanks."

Nick nodded. Ball one.

The next was a curve ball, low and outside. "How do you feel?"

Nick gave an unconscious shrug, and perhaps an even more unconscious laugh. He let his mouth answer for him, brain still down and out. "Like I'm on a slow boat to China."

Strike one. Grissom cracked a small, uncomfortable smile, obviously not sure what to do with such a response. "And, uh…and are you still thinking about jumping ship?" Fast ball this time, right across the plate.

Nick's initial response was a sigh. Long and frustrated, and for a moment he thought Grissom was going to leave so as not to upset him further. But it wasn't Grissom he was frustrated with, not now. Not about this. It was himself. In all honesty, leaving the lab wasn't even an option anymore, if he had really ever been serious about it. It had taken all of two and a half seconds to come to that conclusion. He had a feeling Grissom already knew, and had probably known well before he asked the question. Grissom just had that way about him. He knew things before you did.

Nick stared at a small rock close to his foot and nudged it with the toe of his boot. He was avoiding saying it, and wasn't really sure why. Not with what he'd just said to Kevin Barnett, with Grissom in such close proximity. What he'd admitted to. There was no way to avoid these things anymore. He'd told Grissom that same thing only days before, and he was going to keep up his end.

Nick kicked the rock away and sighed again. "I would never have been able to go through with it," he said.

He felt a hand grip his arm and looked up. Grissom's face was serious. "No, Nick," he said, shaking his head.

Nick felt his heart plummet as Grissom agreed with him. He started to look away once more, but Grissom continued, causing him to pause again.

"No, Nick," he repeated. "You would have been able to go through with it. And you would have been just fine. We wouldn't have been able to do it. Not without you."

* * *

Warrick was pacing. He cracked his knuckles, rolled his neck, rotated his shoulders, and he paced, because he wasn't sure what else to do with the nervous energy radiating through his body. As soon as he'd hung up the phone with Brass, he'd wanted to race out of the lab as fast as he could. If Catherine hadn't been in the room at the time, he might have done so.

"It's over, Warrick," she said firmly, and not for the first time. "Rushing over there isn't going to do anything. Just wait for them to get back." She sounded way too calm for Warrick's liking.

"He had a gun, Cath," he said, making the turn at the break room door. "He was going to…he was gonna – "

"I know!" Catherine interjected loudly and emotionally.

Warrick glanced at her sharply, and she bit her lip.

"I know," she repeated, much softer. "But there isn't anything you can do about it now."

She was right, and he knew it. But it was Gris, and it was Nick, and it was a loony with a gun, and Warrick would never, ever get used to a situation with those factors. You would think he would be used to it, too, as often as it happened. This time was sending over the edge, mostly because he had no idea where things were going to go from this point. It could very likely be the thing to push Nick over the edge right along with him. Nick was on the fence about leaving, and this little confrontation at the station could have very well made up his mind for him, and not in the way Warrick was hoping for.

He checked his watch and shook his head impatiently. "They should be back by now."

Catherine sighed. "Warrick, stop it."

"How can you be so calm?" he asked harshly, making another rotation at the counter and mini-fridge.

"I'm not," Catherine said, frowning. She shifted in her seat at the table. "Would you just stop moving?" she asked testily. She brought a hand up and massaged her temple. "You're giving me a headache."

"You don't have to be in here."

"No, I don't."

"Then why are you?" Warrick snapped, turning again at the door.

Catherine's eyes narrowed. "You're not angry with me."

Warrick glared at her, then sighed. He took the turn at the counter slower this time. "No."

"So then don't be angry with me."

"Sorry. It's just…"

"I know." Catherine stood and moved to the doorway, blocking Warrick's well-beaten pacing path.

He stopped in front of her. "He's gonna leave, Cath," he said, meeting her eyes.

She didn't say anything, just shook her head.

"You don't know that."

Catherine sighed. "No," she said. "But I know Grissom. And Grissom won't let him."

* * *

Gil sat, not really sure what else it was he supposed to do in this situation. This time, he wasn't the one handling things, the one leading the nutjob with the gun away. He was the one left behind to collect himself, to get his breathing under control, to slow his heart rate to a healthier pace. It was different, and it didn't take as long for Gil to calm himself as he would have thought. He found himself wondering how long it had taken Nick. He hadn't really found out, that night five years ago, and couldn't help thinking that it had probably taken much longer.

Gil sighed. He'd wanted the cool spring night air to clear his mind. He'd wanted to walk around and collect himself and his thoughts when he'd left the building. And that sure as hell was what he was getting, thoughts racing. Gil didn't feel up to walking anymore, though, so he sat. He collapsed on the steps outside the station. They were cold and hard and not at all comforting, but they were solid, and Gil needed that. He sat, hands clasped between his knees, feeling the chill of the breeze through his light jacket.

"_He lied to me. He betrayed me. He told me the things I wanted to hear, but it was all just lies."_

Those words might as well have come from Nick's mouth, the way they ripped so mercilessly at Gil's heart. And Nick's response, that had been even worse.

"_I know._"

The way the words caught in his throat. From the truth and the knowingness that Nick had admitted. And it had gotten worse still.

"_He did what he thought was right. He was trying to help you."_

Gil rubbed a hand over his face. He couldn't stop replaying the moment. It was more than the panic and the fear and the guns. It was the words. All of the words and the certainty that had come with them. Like a package deal, two stabs for the price of one.

"_He didn't do anything to you. He just did what he felt was right."_

Three stabs. Nick hadn't been speaking only to Kevin Barnett. Nick had made that perfectly clear, taking that step to the side so that Gil was in his eye line. Not directly, but enough for Gil to get the message. Those words, all of them, had been meant for his ears, as well.

And they were all so wrong. Nick was so wrong.

It was odd, hearing Nick agree with the defense Gil had spent months creating for himself, and it all sounded so wrong. Gil supposed he didn't realize how weak that defense really was until he heard it out loud.

"_I did what I thought was right."_

Lame.

"_I was trying to help you."_

Even worse.

"_I was trying to protect you."_

He couldn't believe he'd been stupid enough to say that. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Nick was right, that wasn't his job. Nick wasn't someone Gil needed to protect; he wasn't someone that needed protecting at all. If he'd proven anything of himself over the past few years it was that he was capable of anything, and of making it through any curveball life threw at him.

And if Gil had proven anything of himself over the past few years, it was that he was uniquely capable of underestimating Nick. Over and over and over. And it seemed he'd done a fair job of teaching Nick to underestimate himself.

"I never would have been able to go through with it."

There were so many things wrong with that statement, Gil didn't even know where to begin. He laid a hand on Nick's arm, and gave it a squeeze. "No, Nick."

Nick started to look away but Gil wouldn't let him. "No, Nick. You would have been able to go through with it. And you would have been just fine. We wouldn't have been able to do it. Not without you."

Nick frowned, and Gil thought for a second that he was going to laugh. At least he had Nick's attention, and while he had it, he was going to take full advantage of it.

"Nick," he said, fighting to maintain eye contact. If ever there was a time to not wuss out, it was now. "I did some things very wrong. I handled some things very badly."

Nick smiled sadly. "I handled them worse."

"No," Gil said sternly. "You did the best you could with what you had. With what I left you with." He held Nick's gaze firmly. "I was wrong. I'm sorry."

* * *

Those were the magic words. The ones he'd been waiting to hear. And there was something about them that seemed so out of place.

Grissom was sorry. Grissom was admitting that what he had done was wrong, and he was sorry for it. Great. Truly and deep down inside, that couldn't possibly have been all he was after.

Nick had come to the place where he understood. Somehow, and completely unexpected, he understood the position Grissom had fancied himself in and, right or wrong, how he'd made a choice based on what he thought and felt. He'd tried to help, tried to protect. It was still frustrating to think Grissom felt he'd needed to protect Nick from the tape. The damned tape wasn't going to do anything to him.

Maybe he'd thought he was protecting Nick from himself, and that was the saddest thought in the world. He wasn't fragile. He could have handled the information Grissom had been keeping from him. So what if there was another voice, an accomplice; it hadn't been about Nick. And that's why Grissom was apologizing. Because he had gotten it wrong, and he knew it.

"Okay." All of the thoughts that had run through Nick's head, all the things there were to say, and that was all he could manage. He'd thought he would be yelling by now.

Grissom seemed to be having a similar line of thinking, because he frowned and leaned back. "Okay…"

Those few words couldn't really make everything better, and Nick told him so. "It's not fixed, Gris."

Grissom nodded slowly, though he looked uncertain. "I know."

"It's not okay."

"I know."

Things weren't okay. Not yet, and not by a long shot. But they were going to be. And that was enough for now.

* * *

Word had circulated quickly, and walking back into the lab proved to be more difficult than either of them had anticipated. Nick wished he would have gone home instead, as he was subjected to a group ambush, and more hugging than he knew what to do with. Surprisingly, he found it didn't bother him as much as it had the last time.

Nick detached himself from Sara and took a step back, giving himself some room to breathe. She then took the opportunity to launch herself at an unsuspecting Grissom, who grunted and staggered. With an uncomfortable smile, he patted her on the back before more or less pushing her away.

"We're okay, Sara," he said once he had her at a safe distance.

"I know," she replied. She seemed embarrassed, avoiding everyone's eyes and tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

"When we heard what happened – " Catherine began, but Grissom cut her off quickly.

"You know, I don't really want to talk about it anymore tonight."

They all looked at Nick, and he nodded his agreement.

"Okay," Catherine said. "Sure, that makes sense. We should have thought about that."

"But you guys are okay?" Warrick asked, face filled with concern.

Grissom glanced at Nick, who again nodded. He nodded, as well. "Yeah."

A collective sigh of relief was breathed by all in the room. And then that breath was sucked right back in.

"Hell of a last case, huh?" Greg asked. He was always there to say whatever it took to make a moment as uncomfortable as possible.

Nick stared at him for a long moment. And everyone else stared at Nick, and waited.

* * *

To be continued...


	21. A Therapeutic Chain of Events

_Chapter Twenty-One: A Therapeutic Chain of Events_

Gil Grissom had a lot to be thankful for, and he was very well aware of it. He could have lost a lot more than his life that night. The events of the past few months had been very educational, for lack of a better word. He'd learned new things, and understood some other things. Things he hadn't understood before, about himself, about his job, and about those around him.

He learned that time, in fact, did not heal all wounds, as he had stupidly said to Catherine during one of her emotional stomps into his office.

"_No, it doesn't. Sometimes, time rips wounds open and shreds them into tiny pieces and then you sit in here and expect me to pick it all up and put it back together."_

It seemed she'd been right all along, about so many things. But Catherine hadn't been able to pick it all up and put it back together. Quite the opposite. One word from her had aided in the near-implosion of his team.

"_Nicky."_

They'd all been letting it slip more and more in those days after the box. What had initially been a nickname for the baby of the team, before Greg came aboard, had come to be so laced with concern and so patronizing and parenting to Nick's ears he'd grown to despise it. Once they stopped using it like that, though, it was amazing how well-received it was again.

He learned empathy wasn't a switch you could flip on and off. It was something inside of you, and if you didn't understand that, then you had an incredible capacity for screwing things up. If you didn't understand that, things could go horribly wrong.

Kevin Barnett spent one night in the Las Vegas PD lockup following the events in the parking lot, but it was long enough for Gil to feel a reoccurring stab of guilt. Staring him down that night had been the personification of all of his failures wrapped into one and threatening to kill him. He'd gone about trying to fix things in all the wrong ways, and all he'd succeeded in was reducing a grieving man into a blubbering, gun-wielding wreck. _Well done, Gil._

He learned that wanting something wasn't enough to make it happen. You had to put in the effort, and you had to leave it all on the floor, or what was the point? Wanting Nick to stay, well, that was nice and all, but it wasn't going to accomplish anything. _Wanting _something wasn't enough, especially when it wasn't your call to make. He could want things all he wanted, but it hadn't been up to Gil to fix anything. It had been in Nick's hands the entire time, and if any one of them had taken the time to really think, it had always been that way. But they didn't think, they'd only wanted.

You couldn't force someone to get over something, or to face up to the personal demons inside of themselves. You just had to give them time, and room, and your understanding. And in their search to find something that would accomplish all of those requirements, they had failed Nick. Miserably. And they nearly lost him for it.

He learned not to underestimate what people were capable of. Because the grieving were capable of threatening murder, and the wounded were capable of recovering, surviving, and coming back strong as ever against seemingly insurmountable odds.

He learned that, every now and then, it was okay to ignore what your brain was telling you and follow the beat of your heart. Because sometimes, it was your head making the rash decisions.

He learned he had a nice office, but that wasn't where his people were, not where he was needed.

He learned maybe, just maybe, he was going to have to start listening to Catherine.

He learned what Nick meant to him, and that was perhaps the most important thing he'd always known and never really understood.

* * *

It was twenty minutes before the start of shift, and the halls of the crime lab were quiet enough for the _clack_ of her heels on the tiles to echo loudly against the bare walls as Catherine approached Grissom's office. He was still spending plenty of time in there, but more often than not, she would pass an open door and see a man pouring over case files and listening to classical music as opposed to a closed door, behind which she knew was a brooding man wearily rubbing the bridge of his nose and hiding from troubles he couldn't understand.

Catherine no longer felt like a mediator between the members of her team. They were finally communicating with each other, nothing too extravagant or revealing, but she had it on good authority Nick and Warrick were spending more time together outside of the lab. She also had it on good authority the life-or-death standoff in the PD parking lot had disintegrated any lingering resentment between Nick and Sara. It seemed the most trying events really had a way of making the little things seem inconsequential. Their bickering and arguing was a thing of the past. Nick even bought her a new jacket to replace the one lost to the rain and the mud and his bad mood, back what seemed like a lifetime ago but her desk calendar told her had really only been a couple of months.

Catherine herself had sat Nick down one night a week or so earlier to apologize for making him in any way feel like she was trying to baby him since the abduction, and was surprised to hear him stop her and apologize, himself, for the way he'd spoken to her. He started to explain the reason for his temper and behavior, and she'd stopped him just as quickly, told him that he had nothing to explain. And they just didn't talk about it. It wasn't like before, when they didn't talk because they were avoiding the subject. They didn't talk about it because it wasn't needed. Because this time around, when the little things came up, they dealt with them.

When they got a 419 in a crawl space, Grissom put Nick on a different case. Not a way to make him feel as though the rest of team thought he couldn't handle the small space, but in a way to let him know that they were thinking about him, and he seemed to be honest to God grateful for the gesture.

And with what was possibly the most important gesture of all, Grissom called Nick into his office two days after the incident with Kevin Barnett, two days after Nick told them he wouldn't be able to leave them, and behind closed doors they spent the better part of an hour and a half going over all of the details of Nick's case, of Kelly Gordon's case, of Sylvia Mullin's case.

Catherine stopped in the doorway of the dimly lit office and placed a hand on the frame. She chewed her lip and watched Grissom, oblivious to her presence. He was leaning back in his chair, chewing on the earpiece of his glasses with a pensive look. Not a brooding look, just a thoughtful one. It was a look Catherine was relieved to see.

She rapped lightly on the door with her knuckles. "Can I come in?"

Grissom looked up and smiled at her, removing his glasses from his mouth. "Of course." He still seemed a bit lost in thought, and Catherine knew the reason.

"It's Wednesday," she stated, sitting in the chair on the other side of the desk.

"Yes, it is," Grissom said.

Catherine cocked her head. "Did you see him today?"

Grissom again nodded in the affirmative.

"And?"

"He's doing well."

"Better?"

"Yeah."

There was something else there, and Catherine knew Gil was still hanging onto the guilt he'd been harboring the past few weeks. "Gil, I know I've only told you this a hundred times, but you didn't do anything wrong."

Grissom glanced over with a small smile, grateful for the reassurance, but she knew he would keep beating himself up over the parking lot mishap. He leaned forward in his chair, resting his arms on the desktop. "I gave him false hope, Catherine, and I did it for all the wrong reasons."

Catherine sat for a moment and thought. When she spoke, her words came slow and calculated. "No, Gil. You did it for the right reasons. You just did it in the wrong way." She leaned forward as well, put a hand on his arm. "His wife had been murdered. He was already grieving, and unstable…"

"And I tried to use his pain to my advantage."

"You can tell yourself that all you want," Catherine said, "but I'm not going to believe it. It was a nice thing to try and reach out to him, whether you did it for him or for you or for Nick. It was a nice thing to try."

"I just don't have it in me."

Catherine smiled and gave his arm a squeeze. "Well, I don't believe that, either. Everyone has it in them, Gil. You shouldn't stop trying."

Grissom took a moment before speaking again, meeting her eyes. "Thanks, Catherine," he said with a genuine smile, patting the hand on his arm.

"Any time," she said, returning the smile.

* * *

"OH!"

The call, coming without warning and simultaneously from two yet-to-be-identified voices, was so loud it could have been heard down the street. As Nick walked down the hall at the start of shift, wincing, he had no doubt that it had been. The shout was followed by a whooping victory cry and a blurted curse, and Nick smiled as he recognized the shouters.

As he rounded the corner and entered the break room, Nick had to brace a hand on the doorframe as he ducked his head in an unfamiliar and welcome burst of laughter.

The room's occupants paid no attention to him as Nick struggled to catch his breath. "What is goin' on in here?" he asked, surveying the scene.

Warrick was hopping around in the center of the room, doing his patented Warrick Brown dance of joy, while Greg stood sulkily off to the side.

Warrick turned to him for a moment and grinned widely. "This is the dance of sweet, sweet victory, baby."

"Yeah?"

"Woooo," Warrick said, shaking his head and bumping a very not amused Greg with his hip. "Did ya see how _on _that shot was, Greggo?"

"That's total crap," Greg said moodily. It seemed Greg took his gaming more seriously than Nick had previously thought.

He poked his controller accusingly at the television screen and dodged Warrick's flailing limbs with a glare. "Do you know how many times I've played this course? You can't eagle on the eighteenth at Red Rock Creek. You just can't."

Warrick didn't pause his dancing as he gave another victorious laugh and thumped Greg on the back with enough force to make him drop the controller. "Maybe you can't, but I can."

Nick crossed his arms, grinning widely at the antics of his friends. "Rematch?"

"Rematch, baby," Warrick said, making his way across the room and slapping him a high five. "And what a sweet one it is."

Greg squinted and put his hands on his hips. "How often have you been practicing?"

"Every day for three weeks, Greggo," Warrick said honestly, unashamed while reveling in his narrow victory.

"It's total crap," Greg mumbled under his breath. "You can't eagle on the eighteenth."

Three weeks. That's how long it had been, and Nick marveled at how much it seemed like nothing had changed. But if he really thought about, things hadn't really changed so much as they had changed back. There sure wasn't any miraculous one-eighty to be seen in the way Gil Grissom held his team safe at arm's distance. He didn't keep as shut up as he had before, but they weren't exactly having group hugs and sharing time or anything.

Nick wasn't really sharing any more information with his friends about the way he was handling things, but there was some kind of unspoken understanding amongst them, that he finally was handling them, and it put them at ease. What there was, was a lack of tension in the room when the gang was assembled. What there was, was eye contact, and laughter not awkward or forced. What there was, was Tiger Woods PGA Tour rematches, Blue Hawaiian search parties, and solo cases. What there was, was weekly appointments with Doctor Audrey Bruning, and on the part of more than of the Graveyard team members.

Nick and Warrick had the talk they were supposed to have the night of Sylvia Mullins' murder. They didn't get into specifics, but Warrick admitted to seeing the psychologist because Tina had asked him to, and he was going to go back. Nick reiterated what Warrick already knew, that he'd been shoved back through her door by Ecklie, but that he, too, was going to go back. They agreed to stop keeping things from each other, and pounded fists on it.

So Nick continued to see the doctor and this time, he wasn't sarcastic and he didn't try to talk circles around the woman, keeping the important stuff buried. He actually started talking about and getting into the things on his mind, about the things that had happened, and he started to feel better.

He talked so much on the Tuesday following the standoff with Kevin Barnett that at the end of the hour, the doctor had looked down at her notes and raised her eyebrows.

"Are they slipping you something at work?" she deadpanned.

Nick shook his head and laughed good-naturedly. "Nah, just…just want things to be different, I guess. To be better."

And little by little, they were getting there. Three weeks wasn't long enough for everything to have righted itself, but the spills were being cleaned.

"Nick?"

Nick scratched his forehead and raised his eyebrows, coming out of his thoughts. He turned his attention to Warrick, having missed the question the first time. "Sorry, what?"

"You wanna try to squeeze in nine holes before Gris gets here," Warrick repeated.

Nick grinned. "You itchin' to come down off of that winning high?"

Warrick snorted. "Talk to up, bro. I know golf ain't your game."

Nick stepped fully into the room, bending to snatch Greg's forgotten controller off of the floor. "Is that right?"

Greg stepped back, shaking his head, his defeat already a thing of the past.

"How many bogeys you rack up last time we played?"

Nick raised his chin. "I was rusty."

"You rusty right now?"

"Boys," came the warning call.

They all turned in the direction of the door as Sara entered the room. "You two are never going to grow up."

"What about Greg?" Nick asked defensively. "He was just cryin' like a baby."

Greg shot a look Nick's way. "I was not crying." He shifted his shoulders and moved to sit at the table. "There was something in my eye."

Sara laughed lightly, settling into a chair across from Greg. "Well, I already knew there was no hope for him," she said, giving Greg her sweetest smile, to which he responded with a single finger.

The laughter coming from the direction of the break room was something only weeks earlier Gil would have paid good money to hear, and he was relieved at how natural it sounded. Catherine bumped him with her elbow and smiled. His team was patching themselves up.

"Wait, you were crying?" Warrick exclaimed as they drew closer. "How did I miss that?"

"Probably 'cause you were dancing your dance of joy," Greg said, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

Sara groaned. "Not the dance of joy."

"What?" Warrick mocked offense. "You jealous you missed it?"

Catherine shook her head as they entered the room. "I know I am," she said, giving Warrick a wink.

Warrick held out his arms. "See, Greg? The ladies flock to the dance."

"All right," Gil said. He took his seat at the head of the table, and Nick and Warrick took the hint, tossing the controllers onto the shelf under the television and selecting empty chairs.

"I've got a pair of 419s," Gil said, getting down to business. "One on the strip, and one at a home in Henderson." He handed the assignment slip to Catherine. "Cath, Greg, and…" he trailed off as a knock sounded on the door.

"Hey, kids," Brass said, leaning on the doorframe. "You guys get too into yet? I've got a case for ya."

"No, Jim," Gil said, sitting back in his chair. "I can move people around. What have you got?"

Brass nonchalantly shoved his hands in his pockets and started to walk around the room. "Probably only need one body for this," he said. He stopped walked and stood behind Nick. He shrugged. "It's just a B and E."

They all turned to gauge Nick's reaction. He just rolled his eyes. "Funny."

* * *

The End.


End file.
